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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

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NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


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JAN  1  ] 

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1 

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e*oCf 


In  the  Wood  of  La  Saudraie.     —  ô 

Etched  by  R.  de  Los  Rios.  —  From  Drawing 
by  Francois  Flameng. 


Illustrated  Sterling  Gdîtîon 


NINETY-THREE 


TWO    VOLUMES    IN    ONE 


BUG  JARGAL— CLAUDE  GUEUX 

BY 
VICTOR    HUGO 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON 

DANA    ESTES    &    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Wt»*  Carafe» 


NINETY-THREE. 


U 


CONTENTS. 
Vol.  I. 


PAKT  L  — AT  SEA. 


Page 

BOOK  I.  —  The  Wood  of  La  Saudraib.  1 

BOOK  II.  —  The  Corvette  "  Claymore." 

Chapter 

I.  England  and  France  in  Concert 16 

II.    Night  on  the  Vessel  and  with  the  Passenger     .  21 

III.  Noble  and  Plebeian  in  Concert 24 

IV.  TORMENTUM   BELLI 32 

V.    Vis  et  Vir 36 

VI.    The  Two  Scales  op  the  Balance 43 

VII.    He  who  sets  Sail  puts  into  a  Lottery     ....  47 

VIII.    9  =  380   .... 52 

IX.  Some  one  escapes 58 

X.  Does  he  escape  ? 60 

BOOK  III.  —  Halmalo. 

I.    Speech  is  the  "Word" 63 

II.  The  Peasant's  Memory  is  as  good  as  the  Captain's 

Science 69 


iV  CONTENTS. 

BOOK   IY.  —  Tellmarch. 

Chapter  Page 

I.    The  Top  of  the  Dune ,    .     .  81 

II.      AuRES   HABET,    ET   NON   AUDIET 85 

III.  Usefulness  of  Big  Letters 88 

IV.  The  Caimand 91 

V.     Signed  Gauvain 99 

VI.    The  Whirligigs  of  Civil  War     .......  103 

VII.     "No    Mercy!"    (Watchword    of    the    Commune) 

"  No  Quarter  !  "  (Watchword  of  the  Princes)  109 


PAET   II.  —  IN  PAEIS. 

BOOK     I.  ClMOURDAIN. 

I.    The  Streets  of  Paris  at  teat  Time 116 

II.      ClMOURDAIN      ..............  125 

HI.    A  Corner  not  dipped  in  Styx 133 

BOOK  II.  —  The  Public  House  of  the  Rue  du  Paon. 

I.    Minos,  iEAcus,  and  Rhadamanthus 136 

II.     Magna  Testantur  Voce  per  Umbras 140 

£11.    A  Stirring  of  the  Inmost  Nerves  .     .     .     .     .     .  158 

BOOK   III.  —  The  Convention. 

1 170 

II .172 

til 175 

IV.        182 

V 188 

VI 190 

VH 192 

VIF 195 


CONTENTS-         t  V 

Chapter  Page 

IX.        .     .     .     . c    ...     197 

X. .199 

XI. .803 

XII.        ..[.'. 205 

XIII.    Marat  in  the  Green-Room •    • .   .    906 


PART   III.™  LA  VENDÉE. 

BOOK   I.  —  La  Vendée. 

ï.    The  Forests  .     ,     ....',...*...  t  213 

II.     The  Peasants     .     .............  216 

III.  Connivance  of  Men  and  Forests      ......  218 

IV.  Their  Life  Underground    .........  222 

V.     Their  Life  in  Warfare       ..........  224 

VI.     The  Spirit  of  the  Place  passes  into  the  Man      .  231 

VII.     La  Vendée  ended  Brittany 235 


BOOK   II.  —  The  Three  Children. 

I.    Plusquam  Civilia  Bella  .     .'    . 237 

II.    Dol  ........... 246 

III.  Small  Armies  and  Great  Battles    ......  254 

IV.  "It  is  the  Second  Time  "  .i    ........  263 

V.     The  Drop  of  Cold  Water  . 266 

VI.  A  Healed  Breast;  a  Bleeding  Heart      ....  269 

VII.     The  Two  Poles  of  the  Truth .  276 

VIII.     Dolorosa .284 

IX.     A  Provincial  Bastile      ."*... 287 

X.     The  Hostages 298 

XI.    Terrible  as  the  Antique 305 

XII.    Possible  Escape 309 

XIII.  What  the  Marquis  was  doing 312 

XIV.  What  Imanus  was  doing 315 


Vl  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  III.  —  The  Massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew. 

Chapter  Page 

I 318 

II 322 

III 325 

IV 327 

V 331 

VI ■         333 

VII 336 


BOOK  IV.  —  The  Mother. 

I.    Death  passes 338 

II.     Death  speaks 342 

III.      MUTTERINGS   AMONG   THE   PEASANTS 347 

IV.     A  Mistake     .     .     . 352 

V.     Vox  in  Deserto 355 


LIST  OP  ILLUSTRATIONS. 
Vol.  I. 

Pagk 
In  the  Wood  op  La  Saudraie Frontispiece 

"The  old  man  raised  himself  to  his  full  height "     .     .       64 

The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  Discovering  that  a  Price  had 

been  Set  upon  his  Head 88 

Boissy  d'Anglas   Uncovering   before    the    Head    of  the 

Deputy  Féraud 198 

The  Children  in  the  Library 318 


NINETY-THREE, 


PART  L 

AT  SEA.        ^f 


BOOK  I 

THE   WOOD   OF  LA  SAUDKAIE. 

IN  the  latter  part  of  May,  1793,  one  of  the  Paris  bat= 
talions  sent  into  Brittany  by  Santerre,  searched  the 
much  dreaded  forest  of  La  Saudraie,  in  Astillé.  There 
were  only  about  three  hundred  men  in  the  reconnoitring 
party,  for  the  battalion  had  been  well-nigh  annihilated 
in  the  fierce  conflicts  in  which  it  had  engaged. 

It  was  after  the  battles  of  Argonne,  Jemmapes,  and 
Valmy,  and  of  the  First  Paris  Eegiment,  which  consisted 
originally  of  six  hundred  volunteers,  only  twenty-seven 
men  remained,  of  the  Second  Eegiment  only  thirty- 
three,  of  the  third  only  fifty-seven.  It  was  unquestion- 
ably a  time  of  epic  strife. 

Each  of  the  battalions  sent  from  Paris  to  the  Vendée 
numbered  nine  hundred  and  twelve  men,  and  was  pro- 
vided with  three  field-pieces.  The  force  had  been  very 
hastily  organized.  On  the  25th  of  April,  —  Gohier 
being  minister  of  Justice,  and  Bouchotte  minister  of 
war,   —  the    Committee   of   Public    Welfare    urged    the 


2  NINETY-THREE. 

necessity  of  immediately  dispatching  a  large  body  ot 
troops  to  Vendée.  Lubin,  a  member  of  the  Commune, 
reported  the  bill  favourably  ;  and  on  the  1st  of  May, 
Santerre  had  twelve  thousand  men,  thirty  cannon,  and 
a  corps  of  gunners  ready  for  the  field. 

These  battalions,  though  organized  so  hurriedly,  were 
organized  so  well  that  they  serve  as  models  even  at  the 
present  day.  Eegiments  of  the  Line  are  yet  organized 
in  the  same  manner  ;  the  relative  proportion  between  the 
number  of  soldiers  and  non-commissioned  officers  has 
been  changed,  — that  is  all. 

On  the  28th  of  April,  the  Commune  of  Paris  gave 
Santerre' s  volunteers  this  order:  "No  mercy;  no  quar- 
ter. "  By  the  end  of  May,  of  the  twelve  thousand  men 
that  left  Paris,  eight  thousand  were  dead. 

The  troops  who  were  exploring  the  forest  of  La  Saudraie 
held  themselves  on  the  alert.  They  advanced  slowly 
and  cautiously.  Each  man  cast  furtive  glances  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left  of  him,  in  front  of  him  and  behind 
him.  It  was  Kléber  who  said  :  "  A  soldier  has  one  eye 
in  his  back.  "  They  had  been  marching  a  long  while. 
What  time  of  day  could  it  be?  It  was  difficult  to  say, 
for  a  dim  twilight  always  pervades  these  dense  forests. 
It  is  never  really  light  there. 

The  forest  of  La  Saudraie  was  tragic.  It  was  in  its 
copses  that,  from  the  month  of  November,  1792,  civil 
war  commenced  its  crimes.  Mousqueton,  the  ferocious 
cripple,  came  out  of  its  fatal  shades.  The  '  list  of  the 
murders  that  had  been  committed  there  was  enough  to 
make  one's  hair  stand  on  end.  There  was  no  place 
more  to  be  dreaded.  The  soldiers  moved  cautiously  for- 
ward. The  depths  were  full  of  flowers;  on  each  side 
was  a  trembling  wall  of  branches  and  dew-wet  leaves. 
Here  and  there  rays  of  sunlight  pierced  the  green 
shadows.     The  gladiola,  that  flame  of  the  marshes,  the 


THE    WOOD   OF  LA   SAUDRAIE.  3 

meadow  narcissus,  the  little  wood  daisy,  harbinger  of 
spring,  and  the  vernal  croc  as,  embroidered  the  thick 
carpet  of  vegetation,  crowded  with  every  form  of  moss, 
from  that  resembling  velvet  {chenille)  to  that  which 
looks  like  a  star.  The  soldiers  advanced  in  silence,  step 
by  step,  pushing  the  brushwood  softly  aside.  The  birds 
twittered  above  the  bayonets. 

In  former  peaceable  times  La  Saudraie  was  a  favourite 
place  for  the  Houiche-ba3  the  hunting  of  birds  by  night  ; 
now  they  hunted  men  there. 

The  thicket  was  one  of  birch-trees,  beeches,  and  oaks; 
the  ground  flat  ;  the  thick  moss  and  grass  deadened  the 
scund  of  the  men's  steps;  there  were  no  paths,  or  only 
blind  ones,  which  quickly  disappeared  among  the  holly, 
wild  sloes,  ferns,  hedges  of  rest-harrow,  and  high  bram- 
bles. It  would  have  been  impossible  to  distinguish  a 
man  ten  steps  off. 

Now  and  then  a  heron  or  a  moor-hen  flew  through  the 
branches,  indicating  the  neighbourhood  of  marshes. 

They  pushed  forward.  They  went  at  random,  with 
uneasiness,  fearing  to  find  that  which  they  sought. 

From  time  to  time  they  came  upon  traces  of  encamp- 
ments, —  burned  spots,  trampled  grass,  sticks  arranged 
crosswise,  branches  stained  with  blood.  Here  soup  had 
been  made  ;  there,  Mass  had  been  said  ;  yonder,  they 
had  dressed  wounds.  But  all  human  beings  had  disap- 
peared. Where  were  they.  Very  far  off,  perhaps  ;  per- 
haps quite  near,  hidden,  blunderbuss  in  hand.  The 
wood  seemed  deserted.  The  regiment  redoubled  its 
prudence.  Solitude  —  hence  distrust.  They  saw  no  one  : 
so  much  more  reason  for  fearing  some  one.  They  had 
to  do  with  a  forest  with  a  bad  name.  An  ambush  was 
probable. 

Thirty  grenadiers,  detached  as  scouts,  and  commanded 
by  a  sergeant,   marched  at    a   considerable  distance  in 


4  NINETY-THREE. 

front  of  the  main  body.  The  vivandière  of  the  battalion 
accompanied  them.  The  vivandières  willingly  join 
the  vanguard  ;  they  run  risks,  but  they  have  the  chance 
of  seeing  whatever  happens.  Curiosity  is  one  of  the 
forms  of  feminine  bravery. 

Suddenly  the  soldiers  of  this  little  advance  party 
started  like  hunters  who  have  neared  the  hiding-place  of 
their  prey.  They  had  heard  something  like  a  breathing 
from  the  centre  of  a  thicket,  and  seemed  to  perceive  a 
movement  among  the  branches.  The  soldiers  made 
signals. 

In  the  species  of  watch  and  search  confided  to  scouts, 
the  officers  have  small  need  to  interfere  ;  the  right  thing 
seems  done  by  instinct. 

In  less  than  a  minute  the  spot  where  the  movement 
had  been  noticed  was  surrounded  ;  a  line  of  pointed 
muskets  encircled  it  ;  the  obscure  centre  of  the  thicket 
was  covered  on  all  sides  at  the  same  instant;  the  sol- 
diers, finger  on  trigger,  eye  on  the  suspected  spot,  only 
waited  for  the  sergeant's  order.  Notwithstanding  this, 
the  vivandière  ventured  to  peer  through  the  underbrush, 
and  at  the  moment  when  the  sergeant  was  about  to  cry, 
"  Fire  '  "  this  woman  cried,  "  Halt  !  " 

Turning  toward  the  soldiers,  she  added,  "  Do  not  fire, 
comrades  !  " 

She  plunged  into  the  thicket  ;  the  men  followed. 

There  was,  in  truth,  some  one  there. 

In  the  thickest  of  the  brake*  on  the  edge  of  one  of 
those  little  round  clearings  left  by  the  fires  of  the  char- 
coal-burners, in  a  sort  of  recess  among  the  branches,  a 
kind  of  chamber  of  foliage,  half  open  like  an  alcove, 
a  woman  was  seated  on  the  moss,  holding  to  her  breast 
a  nursing  babe,  while  the  fair  heads  of  two  sleeping 
children  rested  on  her  knees. 

This  was  the  ambush. 


THE   WOOD  OF  LA  SAUDRAIE.  5 

i(  What  are  you  doing  here,  you  ?  "  cried  the  vivandière. 

The  woman  lifted  her  head. 

The  vivandière  added  furiously  :  — 

"  Are  you  mad,  that  you  are  there  ?  A  little  more 
and  you  would  have  been  blown  to  pieces  !  " 

Then  she  addressed  herself  to  the  soldiers,  — 

"  It  is  a  woman.  " 

"  Well,  that  is  plain  to  be  seen,  "  said  a  grenadier. 

The  vivandière  continued,  — ■ 

"  To  come  into  the  wood  to  get  yourself  massacred  ! 
The  idea  of  such  stupidity  !  " 

The  woman,  stunned,  petrified  with  fear,  looked  about 
like  one  in  a  dream  at  these  guns,  these  sabres,  these 
bayonets,  these  savage  faces. 

The  two  children  awoke,  and  cried. 

"  I  am  hungry,  "  said  the  first. 

"  I  am  afraid,  "  said  the  other. 

The  baby  was  still  suckling  ;  the  vivandière  addressed 
it. 

"  You  are  in  the  right  of  it,  "  said  she. 

The  mother  was  dumb  with  terror.  The  sergeant 
cried  out  to  her  :  — 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  ;  we  are  the  battalion  of  the  Bonnet 
Eouge.  " 

The  woman  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  She  stared 
at  the  sergeant,  of  whose  rough  visage  there  was  nothing 
visible  but  the  moustaches,  the  brows,  and  two  burning 
coals  for  eyes. 

"  Formerly  the  battalion  of  the  Eed  Cross,  "  added  the 
vivandière. 

The  sergeant  continued  :  "  Who  are  you,  madame  ?  " 

The  woman  scanned  him,  terrified.  She  was  slender, 
young,  pale,  and  in  rags  ;  she  wore  the  large  hood  and 
woollen  cloak  of  the  Breton  peasant,  fastened  about  her 
neck  by  a  string.      She  left  her  bosom  exposed  with  the 


S  NINETY -THREE, 

indifference  of  an  animal     Her  feet,  shoeless  ana  stocfc- 
ingless,  were  bleeding. 

"  It  is  a  beggar,  "  said  the  sergeant 

The  vivandière  began  anew,  in  a  voice  at  once  sol- 
dierly and  feminine,  but  sweet,  — 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

The  woman  stammered  so  that  she  was  scarcely 
intelligible. 

u  Michelle  FÏéchard.  » 

The  vivandière  stroked  the  little  head  of  the  sleeping 
babe  with  her  large  hand 

K  What  is  the  age  of  this  mite  ?  "  demanded  she. 

The  mother  did  not  understand.  The  vivandière 
persisted. 

"  T  ask  you>  how  old  is  it  ?  " 

u  Ah!  "  said  the  mother  ;  K  eighteen  months.  " 

*  It  is  old,  "  said  the  vivandière  ;  "  it  ought  not  to 
suckle  any  longer.  You  must  wean  it  ;  we  will  give  it 
soup.  " 

The  mother  began  to  feel  a  certain  confidence,  The 
two  children,  who  had  awakened,  were  rather  curious 
than  scared.     They  admired  the  plumes  of  the  soldiers. 

"  Ah, w  said  the  mother,  "  they  are  very  hungry,  * 

Then  she  added.  "  I  have  no  more  milk.  " 

"  We  will  give  them  something  to  eat,  "  cried  the 
sergeant  ;  a  and  you  too.  But  that 's  not  all.  What 
are  your  political  opinions  ?  " 

The  woman  looked  at  him,  out  did  not  reply, 

"  Did  you  hear  my  question  ?  " 

She  stammered,  — 

"I  was  put  into  a  convent  very  young  —  but  i  am 
married  —  I  am  not  a  nun.  The  sisters  taught  me  to 
speak  French.  The  village  was  set  on  fire.  We  ran 
away  so  quickly  that  I  had  not  time  to  put  on  my 
shoes,  " 


THE   WOOD   OF  LA  SAUDRAIE.  7 

*  I  ask  you,  what  are  your  political  opinions  ?  * 

*  I  don't  know  what  that  means.  " 
The  sergeant  continued,  — 

"  There  are  such  things  as  female  spies.  We  shoot 
spies.  Come,  speak  !  You  are  not  a  gipsy  ?  Which  is 
your  side  ?  " 

She  still  looked  at  him  as  if  she  did  not  understand. 

The  sergeant  repeated,  — 

a  Which  is  your  side  ?  " 

*  I  do  not  know,  "  she  said. 

se  How  ?     You  do  not  know  your  own  country.  " 

*  Ah,  my  country  !     Oh,  yes,  I  know  that.  " 
"  Well,  where  is  it  ?  " 

The  woman  replied,  — 

"  The  farm  of  Siscoignard,  in  the  parish  of  Aie.  * 

It  was  the  sergeant's  turn  to  be  stupefied.  He  re- 
mained thoughtful  for  a  moment,  then  resumed  :  "  You 
say  —  " 

"  Siscoignard.  " 

*  That  is  not  a  country.  " 

*  It  is  my  country,  "  said  the  woman  ;  and  added, 
after  an  instant's  reflection,  "  I  understand,  sir.  You 
are  from  France  ;  I  belong  to  Brittany.  " 

•"Well?" 
a  It  is  not  the  same  neighbourhood.  " 
"  But  it  is  the  same  country,  "  cried  the  sergeant. 
The  woman  only  repeated,  — 
"  I  am  from  Siscoignard.  " 

:i  Siscoignard  be  it,"  returned  the  sergeant     4t  Youi 
family  belong  there  ?  " 
■  Yes.  " 

*  What  is  their  occupation  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  dead  ;  I  have  nobody  left.  " 
The  sergeant,  who  thought  himself  a  fine  talker,  con 
tinued  his  interrogatories  :  — 


8  IjÏNETY-THREE. 

"  What  ?  the  devil  t  One  has  relations,  or  one  has 
had.      Who  are  you  ?     Speak  !  " 

The  woman  listened,  astounded  by  this  :  "  Or  one 
has  had  !  "  which  was  more  like  the  growl  of  an  animal 
than  any  human  sound. 

The  vivandière  felt  the  necessity  of  interfering.  She 
began  again  to  caress  the  babe,  and  to  pat  the  cheeks  of 
the  two  other  children. 

"  How  do  you  call  the  baby  ?  "  she  asked.  "  It  is  a 
little  girl  —  this  one  ?  " 

The  mother  replied,  "  Georgette.  " 

*  And  the  eldest  fellow  ?  For  he  is  a  man,  the  small 
rascal  !  " 

"  Bene- Jean.  " 

"  And  the  younger  ?  He  is  a  man,  too,  and  chubby- 
faced  into  the  bargain.  " 

K  Gros- Alain,  "  said  the  mother. 

u  They  are  pretty  little  fellows,  "  said  the  vivandière  ; 
*  they  already  look  as  if  they  were  somebody.  " 

Still  the  sergeant  persisted.  "  Now,  speak,  madame  I 
Have  you  a  house  ?  " 

"  I  had  one. 3' 

"Where  was  it?" 

K  At  Azé. " 

"  Why  are  you  not  in  your  house  ?  " 

"  Because  they  burned  it  " 

"  Who  ?  r 

u  I  do  not  know  —  a  battle.  " 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  there.  " 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  " 

"  Get  to  the  facts  !     Who  are  you  ?  " 

*  I  don't  know." 

m  You  don't  know  who  you  are  ? 3? 


THE    WOOD  OF  LA   BAUDRAIE.  \i 

'  We  are  people  who  are  running  away. 5i 

"  What  party  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Are  you  Blues  ?  Are  you  Whites  ?  Who  are  you 
with  ?  " 

"  T  am  with  my  children.  " 

There  was  a  pause.     The  vivandière  said,  — 

"  As  for  me,  I  have  no  children  ;  I  have  not  had  time.  " 

The  sergeant  began  again  :  — 

"  But  your  parents  ?  See  here,  madame  !  give  us  the 
facts  about  your  parents.  My  name  is  Eadoub  ;  I  am  a 
sergeant,  from  the  street  of  Cherche  Midi;  my  father 
and  mother,  belonged  there.  I  can  talk  about  my 
parents  ;  tell  us  about  yours.      Who  were  they  ?  " 

"  Their  name  was  Fléchard,  —  that  is  all.  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  Fléchards  are  the  Fléchards,  just  as  the 
Eadoubs  are  the  Badoubs.  But  people  have  a  calling. 
What  was  your  parents'  calling  ?  What  was  their  busi- 
ness, these  Fléchards  of  yours  ?  " 

"  They  were  labourers.  My  father  was  sickly,  and 
could  not  work  on  account  of  a  beating  that  the  lord  — 
his  lord — our  lord  —  had  given  to  him.  It  was  a 
kindness,  for  my  father  had  poached  a  rabbit,  —  a  thing 
for  which  one  was  condemned  to  death  ;  but  the  lord 
showed  him  mercy,  and  said,  c  You  need  only  give  him 
a  hundred  blows  with  a  stick  ;  '  and  my  father  was  left 
crippled.  " 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  My  grandfather  was  a  Huguenot.  The  curé  had 
him  sent  to  the  galleys.     I  was  very  little  at  the  time.  " 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  My  husband's  father  smuggled  salt.  The  king  had 
him  hung.  " 

u  And  your  husband,  —  what  did  he  do  ?  " 

*  Lately,  he  fought.  " 


Î0  NINETY-THREE. 

■  For  whom  ?  " 

<  For  the  king.  " 

*  And  afterward  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  his  lordship.  * 

"  And  next  ?  " 

u  Well,  then  for  the  curé.  " 

"  A  thousand  names  of  brutes  !  "  cried  a  grenadier. 

The  woman  gave  a  start  of  terror. 

"  You  see,  madame,  we  are  Parisians,  "  said  the  vivan- 
dière, graciously. 

The  woman  clasped  her  hands,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  O  my  God  and  blessed  Lord  !  " 

"  No  superstitious  ejaculations  !  "  growled  the  sergeant. 

The  vivandière  seated  herself  by  the  woman,  and 
drew  the  eldest  child  between  her  knees.  He  sub- 
mitted quietly.  Children  show  confidence  as  they  do 
distrust,  without  any  apparent  reason  ;  some  internal 
monitor  warns  them. 

"  My  poor,  good  woman  of  this  neighbourhood,  "  said 
the  vivandière,  "  your  brats  are  very  pretty, —  babies  are 
always  that.  I  can  guess  their  ages.  The  big  one  is 
four  years  old  ;  his  brother  is  three.  Upon  my  word  ! 
the  little  sucking  poppet  is  a  greedy  one.  Oh,  the  mon- 
ster !  Will  you  stop  eating  up  your  mother  ?  See  here, 
madame,  do  not  be  afraid.  You  ought  to  join  the  bat- 
talion. Do  like  me,  I  call  myself  Houzarde.  It  is  a 
nickname  ;  but  I  like  Houzarde  better  than  being  called 
Mamzelle  Bicorneau.  like  my  mother.  I  am  the  canteen 
woman  ;  that  is  the  same  as  saying,  '  she  who  offers  drink 
when  they  are  firing  and  stabbing.  '  Our  feet  are  about 
the  same  size.  I  will  give  you  a  pair  of  my  shoes.  I 
was  in  Paris  the  10th  of  August.  I  gave  Westermann 
drink  too.  How  things  went  !  I  saw  Louis  XYI.  guil- 
lotined,—  Louis  Capet,  as  they  call  him.  It  was  against 
his   will.      Only  just  listen,  now!     To  think  that  the 


THE   WOOD   OJb'   LA  SAUUIiAlE.  11 

13 til  of  January  he  roasted  chestnuts  and  laughed  with 
his  family.  When  they  forced  him  down  on  the  see- 
saw, as  they  say,  he  had  neither  coat  nor  shoes,  nothing 
but  his  shirt,  a  quilted  waistcoat,  grey  cloth  breeches, 
and  grey  silk  stockings.  I  saw  that,  I  did  !  The  hack- 
ney-coach they  brought  him  in  was  painted  green.  See 
here  !  come  with  us  ;  the  battalion  are  good  fellows. 
You  shall  be  canteen  number  two  ;  I  will  teach  you  the 
business.  Oh,  it  is  very  simple  !  You  have  your  can 
and  your  hand-bell  ;  away  you  go  into  the  hubbub,  with 
the  platoons  firing,  the  cannon  thundering,  —  into  the 
thickest  of  the  row  ;  and  you  cry,  '  Who  '11  have  a  drop 
to  drink,  my  children  ?  '  It  ' s  no  more  trouble  than  that. 
I  give  everybody  and  anybody  a  sup,  yes,  indeed,  — 
Whites  the  same  as  Blues,  though  I  am  a  Blue  myself,  and 
a  good  Blue,  too  ;  but  I  serve  them  all  alike.  Wounded 
men  are  all  thirsty.  They  die  without  any  difference 
of  opinions.  Dying  fellows  ought  to  shake  hands. 
How  silly  it  is  to  go  fighting  !  Do  you  come  with  us. 
If  I  am  killed,  you  will  step  into  my  place.  You  see  I 
am  only  so-so  to  look  at  ;  but  I  am  a  good  woman,  and 
a  brave  chap.     Don 't  you  be  afraid.  " 

When  the  vivandière  ceased  speaking,  the  woman 
murmured,  — 

"  Our  neighbour  was  called  Marie  Jeanne,  and  our 
servant  was  named  Marie  Claude.  " 

In  the  mean  time  the  sergeant  reprimanded  the 
grenadier  :  — 

"  Hold  your  tongue  '  You  frighten  madame.  One 
does  not  swear  before  ladies.  " 

*  All  the  same  ;  it  is  a  downright  butchery  for  an 
honest  man  to  hear  about,  "  replied  the  grenadier  ;  "  and 
to  see  Chinese  Iroquois,  that  have  had  their  fathers-in- 
law  crippled  by  a  lord,  their  grandfathers  sent  to  the 
galleys  by  the  priest,    and  their  fathers  hung  by  the 


12  NINETY-THREE. 

king,  and  who  fight  —  name  of  the  little  Black  Man  I  — 
and  mix  themselves  up  with  revolts,  and  get  smashed 
for  his  lordship,  the  priest,  and  the  king  '  " 

"  Silence  in  the  ranks  '  "  cried  the  sergeant. 

"  A  man  may  hold  his  tongue,  Sergeant,  "  returned  the 
grenadier;  "  but  that  doesn't  hinder  the  fact  that  it 's 
a  pity  to  see  a  pretty  woman  like  this  running  the  risk 
of  getting  her  neck  broken  for  the  sake  of  a  dirty 
robber.  " 

"  Grenadier,  "  said  the  sergeant,  "  we  are  not  in  the 
Pike-club  of  Paris  ;  no  eloquence  '  " 

He  turned  toward  the  woman. 

"  And  your  husband,  madame  ?  What  is  he  at  ?  What 
has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  There  hasn't  anything  become  of  him,  because  they 
killed  him.  " 

"  Where  did  that  happen  ?  7 

"  In  the  hedge.  " 

"  When  ?  " 

"  Three  days  ago.  w 

•  Who  did  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  " 

"  How  ?    You  do  not  know  who  killed  your  husband  ?* 

"  No.  " 

"  W as  it  a  Blue  ?     Was  it  a  White  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  bullet.  " 

"  Three  days  ago  ?  " 

«  Yes.  " 

"  In  what  direction  ?  " 

a  Toward  Ernée      My  husband  fell,  —  that  is  all.  * 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  since  your  husband 
was  killed  ?  " 

"  I  bear  away  my  children.  " 

"  Where  are  you  taking  them  ?  * 

a  Straight  ahead.  * 


THE  WOOD  OF  LA  SAUDRAIE.  13 

*  Where  do  you  sleep  ?  " 

"  On  the  ground.  " 

"  What  do  you  eat  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  " 

The  sergeant  made  that  military  grimace  which  makes 
the  moustache  touch  the  nose. 

"  Nothing  ?  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  sloes  and  dried  berries  left  from  last 
year,  myrtle  seeds,  and  fern  shoots.  " 

"  Faith  !  you  might  as  well  say  '  nothing.  '  " 

The  eldest  of  the  children,  who  seemed  to  understand, 
said,  "  I  am  hungry.  " 

The  sergeant  took  a  bit  of  regulation  bread  from  his 
pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  mother.  She  broke  the 
bread  into  two  fragments,  and  gave  them  to  the  chil- 
dren, who  ate  with  avidity. 

"  She  has  kept  none  for  herself,  "  grumbled  the 
sergeant. 

"  Because  she  is  not  hungry,  "  said  a  soldier. 

"  Because  she  is  a  mother,  "  said  the  sergeant 

The  children  interrupted  the  dialogue. 

"  I  want  to  drink,  "  cried  one. 

"  I  want  to  drink,  "  repeated  the  other. 

"  Is  there  no  brook  in  this  devil's  wood?  "  asked  ths 
sergeant. 

The  vivandière  took  the  brass  cup  which  hung  at  her 
belt  beside  her  hand-bell,  turned  the  cock  of  the  can  she 
carried  slung  over  her  shoulder,  poured  a  few  drops  into 
the  cup,  and  held  it  to  the  children's  lips  in  turn. 

The  first  drank  and  made  a  grimace.  The  second 
drank  and  spat  it  out. 

"  Nevertheless,  it  is  good,  "  said  the  vivandière. 

"  Is  it  some  of  the  old  cut-throat  ?  "  asked  the  sergeant. 

"  Yes,  and  the  best  ;  but  these  are  peasants,  ?  And 
she  wiped  her  cup. 


14  NINETY-THREE. 

The  sergeant  resumed  :  — 
"  And  so,  madame,  you  are  trying  to  escape  ?  * 
"  There  is  nothing  else  left  for  me  to  do.  " 
"  Across  fields  — going  whichever  way  chance  directs  ?w 
"  I   run   with   all   my   might,   then  I  walk,   then    I 
fall." 

"  Poor  villager  '  "  said  the  vivandière. 

*  The  people  fight,  "  stammered  the  woman.  "  They 
are  shooting  all  around  me.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is 
they  wish.  They  killed  my  husband;  that  is  all  I 
understood.  " 

The  sergeant  grounded  the  butt  of  his  musket  till  the 
earth  rang,  and  cried,  — 

"  What  a  beast  of  a  war  —  in  the  hangman's  name!  " 

The  woman  continued,  — 

"  Last  night  we  slept  in  an  émousse.  * 

*  All  four?" 
"  All  four.  " 
"Slept?" 

"  Slept.  " 

"  Then,  "  said  the  sergeant,  "  you  slept  standing.  " 

He  turned  toward  the  soldiers  :  "  Comrades,  what 
these  savages  call  an  émousse  is  an  old  hollow  tree-trunk 
that  a  man  may  fit  himself  into  as  if  it  were  a  sheath. 
But  what  would  you  ?     We  cannot  all  be  Parisians.  " 

"  Slept  in  a  hollow  tree  ?  "  exclaimed  the  vivandière. 
"  And  with  three  children  !  " 

"  And,  "  added  the  sergeant,  "  when  the  little  ones 
howled,  it  must  have  been  odd  to  anybody  passing  by 
and  seeing  nothing  whatever,  to  hear  a  tree  cry,  '  Papa  ! 


mamma 


"  Luckily  it  is  summer,  "  sighed  the  woman. 

She  looked  down  upon  the  ground  in  silent  resigna- 
tion, her  eyes  filled  with  the  bewilderment  of  wretched- 
ness. 


THE   WOOD  OF  LA   SAUDRAIE.  15 

The  soldiers  made  a  silent  circle  round  this  group  of 
misery.  A  widow,  three  orphans  ;  flight,  abandonment, 
solitude,  war  muttering  around  the  horizon  ;  hunger, 
thirst;  no  other  nourishment  than  the  herbs  of  the  field, 
no  other  roof  than  that  of  heaven. 

The  sergeant  approached  the  woman,  and  fixed  his  eye 
on  the  sucking,  baby.  The  little  one  left  the  breast, 
turned  its  head  gently,  gazing  with  its  beautiful  blue 
orbs  into  the  formidable  hairy  face,  bristling  and  wild, 
which  bent  toward  it,  and  began  to  smile. 

The  sergeant  raised  himself,  and  they  saw  a  great  tear 
roll  down  his  cheek  and  cling  like  a  pearl  to  the  end  of 
his  moustache. 

He  lifted  his  voice  :  — 

"  Comrades,  from  all  this  I  conclude  that  the  regiment 
is  going  to  become  a  father.  Is  it  agreed  ?  We  adopt 
these  three  children  ?  " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Republic  !  "  chorused  the  grenadiers 

"  It  is  decided  !  "  said  the  sergeant. 

He  stretched  his  two  hands  above  the  mother  and  her 
babes. 

"  Behold  the  children  of  the  battalion  of  the  Bonnet 
Rouge  ! " 

The  vivandière  leaped  for  joy. 

"  Three  heads  under  one  bonnet !  "  cried  she. 

Then  she  burst  into  sobs,  embraced  the  poor  widow 
wildly,  and  said  to  her,  "  What  a  rogue  the  little  girl 
looks  already  !  " 

"  Vive  la  République  I  "  repeated  the  soldiers. 

And  the  sergeant  said  to  the  mother  :  — • 

u  Come,  citizeness  !  " 


BOOK    IL 

THE  CORVETTE   "  CLAYMORE." 


CHAPTER   I. 

ENGLAND   AND   FRANCE   IN   CONCERT. 

IN  the  spring  of  1793,  at  the  moment  when  France, 
simultaneously  attacked  on  all  its  frontiers,  suffered 
the  pathetic  distraction  of  the  downfall  of  the  Giron- 
dists, this  was  what  happened  in  the  Channel  Islands. 

At  Jersey,  on  the  evening  of  the  1st  of  June,  about 
an  hour  before  sunset,  a  corvette  set  sail  from  the  soli- 
tary little  Bay  of  Bonnenuit,  in  that  kind  of  foggy 
weather  which  is  favourable  to  flight  because  pursuit  is 
-rendered  dangerous.  The  vessel  was  manned  by  a 
French  crew,  though  it  made  part  of  the  English  fleet 
stationed  on  the  look-out  at  the  eastern  point  of  the 
island.  The  Prince  de  la  Tour  d'Auvergne,  who  was  of 
the  house  of  Bouillon,  commanded  the  English  flotilla  : 
and  it  was  by  his  orders,  and  for  an  urgent  and  special 
service,  that  the  corvette  had  been  detached. 

This  vessel,  entered  at  Trinity  House  under  the  name 
of  the  "  Claymore,  "  had  the  appearance  of  a  transport  or 
trader,  but  was  in  reality  a  war  corvette.      She  had  the 


ENGLAND  AND  FRANCE  IN  CONCERT.       17 

heavy,  pacific  look  of  a  merchantman  ;  but  it  would  not 
have  been  safe  to  trust  to  that.  She  had  been  built  for 
a  double  purpose,  —  cunning  and  strength  :  to  deceive  if 
possible,  to  fight  if  necessary.  For  the  service  before 
her  this  night,  the  lading  of  the  lower  deck  had  been 
replaced  by  thirty  carronades  of  heavy  calibre.  Either 
because  a  storm  was  feared,  or  because  it  was  desirable 
to  prevent  the  vessel  having  a  suspicious  appearance, 
these  carronades  were  housed,  —  that  is  to  say,  securely 
fastened  within  by  triple  chains,  and  the  hatches  above 
shut  close.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  from  without.  The 
ports  were  blinded  ;  the  slides  closed  ;  it  was  as  if  the 
corvette  had  put  on  a  mask.  Armed  corvettes  only 
carry  guns  on  the  upper  deck  ;  but  this  one,  built  for 
surprise  and  cunning,  had  the  deck  free,  and  was  able, 
as  we  have  just  seen,  to  carry  a  battery  below.  The 
"  Claymore  "  was  after  a  heavy,  squat  model,  but  a  good 
sailer,  nevertheless, —  the  hull  of  the  most  solid  sort  used 
in  the  English  navy, —  and  in  battle  was  almost  as  valu- 
able as  a  frigate,  though  for  mizzen  she  had  only  a  small 
mast  of  brigantine  rig.  Her  rudder,  of  a  peculiar  and 
scientific  form,  had  a  curved  frame,  of  unique  shape, 
which  cost  fifty  pounds  sterling  in  the  dockyards  of 
Southampton. 

The  crew,  all  French,  was  composed  of  refugee  officers 
and  deserter  sailors.  They  were  tried  men  ;  not  one  but 
was  a  good  sailor,  good  soldier,  and  good  royalist.  They 
had  a  threefold  fanaticism,  —  for  ship,  sword,  and  king. 

A  half-regiment  of  marines,  that  could  be  disem- 
barked in  case  of  need,  was  added  to  the  crew. 

The  corvette  *  Claymore  "  had  as  a  captain  chevalier  of 
Saint  Louis,  Count  du  Boisberthelot,  one  of  the  best 
officers  of  the  old  Eoyal  Navy;  for  second,  the  Cheva- 
lier La  Vieuville,  who  had  commanded  a  company  of 
French  guards   in  which  Hoche  was  sergeant;  and  foT 


18  NINETY-THREE. 

pilot,   Philip   Gacquoil,    the   most   skilful   mariner   in 

Jersey. 

It  was  evident  that  the  vessel  had  unusual  business 
on  hand.  Indeed,  a  man  who  had  just  come  on  board 
had  the  air  of  one  entering  upon  an  adventure.  He  was 
a  tall  old  man,  upright  and  robust,  with  a  severe  coun- 
tenance, whose  age  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  guess 
accurately,  for  he  seemed  at  once  old  and  young, —  one  of 
those  men  who  are  full  of  years  and  of  vigour  ;  who  have 
white  hair  on  their  heads  and  lightning  in  their  glance  ; 
forty  in  point  of  energy  and  eighty  in  power  and  author- 
ity. As  he  came  on  deck  his  sea-cloak  blew  open,  ex- 
posing his  large  loose  breeches  and  top-boots,  and  a  goat- 
skin vest  which  had  one  side  tanned  and  embroidered 
with  silk,  while  on  the  other  the  hair  was  left  rough  and 
bristling,  —  a  complete  costume  of  the  Breton  peasant. 
These  old-fashioned  jackets  answered  alike  for  working 
and  holidays  :  they  could  be  turned  to  show  the  hairy  or 
embroidered  side,  as  one  pleased, —  goat-skin  all  the  week, 
gala  accoutrements  on  Sunday.  As  if  to  increase  a  re- 
semblance which  had  been  carefully  studied,  the  peasant 
dress  worn  by  the  old  man  was  threadbare  at  the  knees 
and  elbows,  and  seemed  to  have  been  long  in  use,  while 
his  coarse  cloak  might  have  belonged  to  a  fisherman. 
He  had  on  his  head  the  round  hat  of  the  period,  — high, 
with  a  broad  rim,  which,  when  turned  down,  gave  the 
wearer  a  rustic  look,  but  took  a  military  air  when  fas- 
tened up  at  the  side  with  a  loop  and  a  cockade.  The  old 
man  wore  his  hat  with  the  brim  flattened  forward,  peas- 
ant fashion,  without  either  tassels  or  cockade. 

Lord  Balcarras,  the  governor  of  the  island,  and  the 
Prince  de  la  Tour  d'Auvergne,  had  in  person  conducted 
and  installed  him  on  board.  The  secret  agent  of  the 
princes,  Gélambre,  formerly  one  of  the  Count  d'Artois  's 
body-guard,   had  superintended  the  arrangement  of  the 


ENGLAND  AND  FRANCE  IN  CONCERT.       19 

cabin  ;  and,  although  himself  a  nobleman,  pushed  courtesy 
and  respect  so  far  as  to  walk  behind  the  old  man,  carrying 
his  portmanteau.  When  they  left  him  to  go  ashore  again, 
Monsieur  de  Gélambre  saluted  the  peasant  profoundly  ; 
Lord  Balcarras  said  to  him,  "  Good  luck,  General  !  "  and 
the  Prince  de  la  Tour  d'Auvergne  added,  "  Au  revoir \ 
my  cousin  !  " 

"  The  peasant  "  was  the  name  by  which  the  crew  im- 
mediately designated  their  passenger  during  the  short 
dialogues  which  seamen  hold  ;  but  without  understand- 
ing further  about  the  matter,  they  comprehended  that 
he  was  no  more  a  peasant  than  the  corvette  was  a  com- 
mon sloop. 

There  was  little  wind.  The  "  Claymore  "  left  Bonne- 
nuit,  and  passed  in  front  of  Boulay  Bay,  and  was  for 
some  time  in  sight,  tacking  to  windward  ;  then  she  les- 
sened in  the  gathering  night,  and  finally  disappeared. 

An  hour  after,  Gélambre,  having  returned  to  his  house 
at  Saint  Helier,  sent  by  the  Southampton  express  the 
following  lines  to  the-  Count  d'Artois,  at  the  Duke  of 
York's  headquarters, — 

Monseigneur,  —  The  departure  has  just  taken  place. 
Success  certain.  In  eight  days  the  whole  coast  will  be  on 
fire  from  Granville  to  Saint  Malo. 

Four  days  previous,  Prieur,  the  representative  of 
Marne,  on  a  mission  to  the  army  along  the  coast  of 
Cherbourg,  and  momentarily  residing  at  Granville,  had 
received  by  a  secret  emissary  this  message,  written  in 
the  same  hand  as  the  dispatch  above:  — 

Citizen  Kepresentative,  —  On  the  1st  of  June,  at  the 
hour  when  the  tide  serves,  the  war  corvette  (i  Claymore,  "  with 
a  masked  battery,  will   set  sail  for  the  purpose  of  landing 


20  NINETY-THREE. 

upon  the  shore  of  France  a  man  of  whom  this  is  a  descrip- 
tion :  tall,  old,  white  hair,  peasant's  dress,  hands  of  an 
aristocrat.  I  will  send  you  more  details  to-morrow.  He 
will  land  on  the  morning  of  the  2d.  Warn  the  cruisers  ; 
capture  the  corvette  j  guillotine  the  man. 


f  ff9 


, 


CHAPTEE  IL 

NIGHT  ON  THE  VESSEL  AND  WITH  THE  PASSENGER. 

THE  corvette,  instead  of  going  south  and  making  for 
Saint  Catherine's,  headed  north,  then  veered  to 
the  west,  and  resolutely  entered  the  arm  of  the  sea  be- 
tween Sark  and  Jersey,  called  the  Passage  de  la  Deronte. 
At  that  time  there  was  no  lighthouse  upon  any  point 
along  either  coast.  The  sun  had  set  clear;  the  night 
was  dark,  —  darker  than  summer  nights  ordinarily  are  ; 
there  was  a  moon,  but  vast  clouds,  rather  of  the  equinox 
than  the  solstice,  veiled  the  sky,  and  according  to  all 
appearance  the  moon  would  not  be  visible  till  she 
touched  the  horizon  at  the  moment  of  setting.  A  few 
clouds  hung  low  upon  the  water  and  covered  it  with 
mist. 

All  this  obscurity  was  favourable. 

The  intention  of  Pilot  Gacquoil  was  to  leave  Jersey 
on  the  left  and  Guernsey  on  the  right,  and  to  gain,  by 
bold  sailing  between  the  Hanois  and  the  Douvree,  some 
bay  of  the  Saint  Malo  shore,  —  a  route  less  short  than 
that  by  the  Minquiers,  but  safer,  as  the  Trench  cruisers 
had  standing  orders  to  keep  an  especially  keen  watch 
between  Saint  Helier  and  Granville.  If  the  wind  were 
favourable,  and  nothing  occurred,  Gacquoil  hoped  by 
setting  all  sail  to  touch  the  French  coast  at  daybreak. 

All  went  well.  The  corvette  had  passed  Gros-Nez. 
Toward  nine  o'clock  the  weather  looked  sulky,  as  sailors 
say,  and  there  were  wind  and  sea;  but  the  wind  was 


22  NINETY-THREE. 

good  and  the  sea  strong  without  being  violent.     Still, 
now  and  then  the  waves  swept  the  vessel's  bows. 

The  "  peasant,  "  whom  Lord  Balcarras  had  called 
"  General,  "  and  whom  the  Prince  de  la  Tour  d'Auvergne 
addressed  as  "  My  cousin,  "  had  a  sailor's  footing,  and 
paced  the  deck  with  tranquil  gravity.  He  did  not  even 
seem  to  notice  that  the  corvette  rocked  considerably. 
From  time  to  time  he  took  a  cake  of  chocolate  out  of  his 
pocket  and  munched  a  morsel  :  his  white  hair  did  not 
prevent  his  having  all  his  teeth. 

He  spoke  to  no  one,  except  now  and  then  a  few  low 
quick  words  to  the  captain,  who  listened  with  defer- 
ence, and  seemed  to  consider  his  passenger,  rather  than 
himself,  the  commander. 

The  "  Claymore,  "  ably  piloted,  skirted  unperceived  in 
the  fog  the  long  escarpment  north  of  Jersey,  hugging 
the  shore  on  account  of  the  formidable  reef  Pierres  de 
Leeq,  which  is  in  the  middle  of  the  channel  between 
Jersey  and  Sark.  Gacquoil,  standing  at  the  helm,  sig- 
nalled in  turn  the  Grève  de  Leeq,  Gros-Nez,  and  Piémont, 
and  slipped  the  corvette  along  among  this  chain  of  reefs, 
feeling  his  way  to  a  certain  extent,  but  with  certitude, 
like  a  man  familiar  with  the  course  and  acquainted  with 
the  disposition  of  the  sea.  The  corvette  had  no  light 
forward,  from  a  fear  of  betraying  its  passage  through 
these  guarded  waters.  The  fog  was  a  cause  for  rejoiciug. 
They  reached  the  Grande  Étaque.  The  mist  was  so 
thick  that  the  outlines  of  the  lofty  pinnacle  could 
scarcely  be  made  out.  Ten  o'clock  was  heard  to  sound 
from  the  belfry  of  Saint  Ouen,  a  proof  that  the  wind 
was  still  abaft.  All  was  yet  going  well.  The  sea  grew 
rougher  on  account  of  the  neighbourhood  of  La  Corbière, 

A  little  after  ten.  Count  de  Boisberthelot  and  the 
Chevalier  La  Vieuville  reconducted  the  man  in  the  peas- 
ant's garb  to  his  cabin,   which  was  in  reality  the  cap- 


NIGHT  ON  THE   VESSEL.  23 

tain's  state-room.  As  he  went  in,  he  said  to  them  in 
a  low  voice  :  — 

"  Gentlemen,  you  understand  the  importance  of  se- 
crecy. Silence  up  to  the  moment  of  explosion.  You 
two  are  the  only  ones  here  who  know  my  name.  " 

"  We  will  carry  it  with  us  to  the  tomb,  "  replied 
Boisberthelot. 

"  As  for  me,  "  added  the  old  man,  "  were  I  in  face  of 
death,  I  would  not  tell  it.  " 

He  entered  his  cabin. 


CHAPTER  III. 

NOBLE   AND   PLEBEIAN   IN   CONCERT. 

THE  commander  and  the  second  officer  returned  on 
deck  and  walked  up  and  down,  side  by  side,  in 
conversation.  They  were  evidently  talking  of  their 
passenger,  and  this  was  the  dialogue  which  the  wind 
dispersed  among  the  shadows. 

Boisbert  helot  grumbled  in  a  half -voice  in  the  ear  of 
La  Vieuville  :  — 

"  We  shall  see  if  he  is  really  a  leader.  " 

La  Vieuville  replied.  "  in  the  mean  time  he  is  a 
prince.  " 

"  Almost.  " 

"  Nobleman  in  France,  but  prince  in  Brittany.  n 

"  Like  the  La  Trémoilles  ;  like  the  Eohans.  " 

"  "With  whom  he  is  connected.  " 

Boisberthelot  resumed  :  — 

"  In  France,  and  in  the  king's  carriages,  he  is  mar- 
quis, as  I  am  count,  and  you  are  chevalier.  * 

"  The  carriages  are  far  off  !  "  cried  La  Vieuville.  "  We 
have  got  to  the  tumbrel.  " 

There  was  a  silence. 

Boisberthelot  began  again  :  — ■ 

*  For  lack  of  a  French  prince,  a  Breton  one  is  taken.  " 

"  For  lack  of  thrushes,  —  no,  for  want  of  an  eagle,  — 
a  crow  is  chosen.  " 

"  I  should  prefer  a  vulture,  "  said  Boisberthelot. 

And  La  Vieuville  retorted,  — 


NOBLE  AND  PLEBEIAN  IN  CONCERT.       25 

u  Yes,  indeed  !  a  beak  and  talons.  " 

"  We  shall  see.  "  \v 

"  Yes,  "  resumed  La  Yieuville,  "  it  is  time  there  was  a 
head.  I  am  of  Tinteniac's  opinion  :  '  A  true  chief,  and 
—  gunpowder!'  See,  Commander  ;  I  know  nearly  all 
the  leaders,  possible  and  impossible,  —  those  of  yester- 
day, those  of  to-day,  and  those  of  to-morrow;  there  is 
not  one  with  the  sort  of  headpiece  we  need.  In  that 
accursed  Vendée  it  wants  a  general  who  is  a  lawyer  at 
the  same  time.  He  must  worry  the  enemy,  dispute 
every  mill,  thicket,  ditch,  pebble  ;  quarrel  with  him  ; 
take  advantage  of  everything;  see  to  everything; 
slaughter  plentifully  ;  make  examples  ;  be  sleepless, 
pitiless.  At  this  hour  there  are  heroes  among  that  army 
of  peasants,  but  there  are  no  captains.  D'Elbée  is  nil  ; 
Lescure  is  ailing  ;  Bonchampe  shows  mercy,  —  he  is 
kind,  that  means  stupid  ;  La  Bochejacquelein  is  a  mag- 
nificent sub-lieutenant  ;  Silz  an  officer  for  open  country, 
unfit  for  a  war  of  expedients  ;  Cathelineau  is  a  simple 
carter;  Stofflet  is  a  cunning  gamekeeper;  Bérard  is 
inept  ;  Boulainvilliers  is  ridiculous  ;  Charette  is  shock- 
ing. And  I  do  not  speak  of  the  barber  Gaston.  For, 
in  the  name  of  Mars  !  what  is  the  good  of  opposing  the 
Eevolution,  and  what  is  the  difference  between  the  re- 
publicans and  ourselves,  if  we  set  hairdressers-  to  com- 
mand noblemen  ?  " 

"  You  see  that  beast  of  a  Eevolution  has  infected  us 
$lso.  " 

*  An  itch  that  France  has  caught.  " 

'"  An  itch  of  the  Third  Estate,  "  replied  Boisberthelot. 

"  It  is  only  England  that  can  cure  us  of  it.  " 

"  And  she  will  cure  us,  do  not  doubt  it,  Captain.  " 

*  In  the  mean  while  it  is  ugly.  " 

"  Indeed,  yes.  Clowns  everywhere  !  The  monarchy 
which  has  for  commander-in-chief   Stofflet,    the  game- 


26  NINETY-THREE. 

keeper  of  M.  de  Maulevrier,  has  nothing  to  envy  in  the 
republic  that  has  for  minister,  Pache,  son  of  the  Duke 
de  Castries 's  porter.  What  men  this  Vendean  war  brings 
out  against  each  other  !  On  one  side  San  terre  the  brewer, 
on  the  other  Gaston  the  wigmaker  !  " 

"  My  dear  Vieuville,  I  have  a  certain  respect  for 
Gaston.  He  did  not  conduct  himself  ill  in  his  com- 
mand of  Gueménée.  He  very  neatly  shot  three  hundred 
Blues,  after  making  them  dig  their  own  graves.  " 

"  Well  and  good  ;  but  I  could  have  done  that  as  well 
as  he.  " 

"  Zounds  !  no  doubt  ;  and  I  also.  " 

"  The  great  acts  of  war,  "  resumed  La  Vieuville,  "  re- 
quire to  be  undertaken  by  noblemen.  They  are  matters 
for  knights  and  not  hairdressers.  " 

"  Still,  there  are  some  estimable  men  among  this 
'  Third  Estate,  '  "  returned  Boisberthelot.  "  Take,  for 
example,  Joby  the  clockmaker.  He  had  been  a  ser- 
geant in  a  Flanders  regiment  ;  he  gets  himself  made  a 
Vendean  chief  ;  he  commands  a  coast  band  ;  he  has  a 
son  who  is  a  Eepublican,  and  while  the  father  serves 
among  the  Whites,  the  son  serves  among  the  Blues. 
Encounter.  Battle.  The  father  takes  the  son  prisoner, 
and  blows  out  his  brains.  " 

"  He  's  a  good  one,  "  said  La  Vieuville. 

"  A  royalist  Brutus,  "  replied  Boisberthelot. 

"  All  that  does  not  hinder  the  fact  that  it  is  insup- 
portable to  be  commanded  by  a  Coquereau,  a  Jean-Jean,  a 
Mouline,  a  Focart,  a  Bouju,  a  Chouppes  !  " 

"  My  dear  chevalier,  the  other  side  is  equally  disgusted. 
We  are  full  of  plebeians  ;  they  are  full  of  nobles.  Do 
you  suppose  the  sansculottes  are  content  to  be  commanded 
by  the  Count  de  Canclaux,  the  Viscount  de  Miranda, 
the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais,  the  Count  de  Valence,  the 
Marquis  de  Custine,  and  the  Duke  de  Biron.  " 


NOBLE  AND  PLEBEIAN  IN  CONCERT.  27 

*  What  a  hash  !  " 

"  And  the  Duke  de  Chartres  !  " 

"  Son  of  Égalité.     Ah,   then,   when  will  he  ever  be 
king  ?  " 
"  Never.  " 

*  He  mounts  toward  the  throne.  He  is  aided  by  his 
crimes.  " 

"  And  held  back  by  his  vices,  "  said  Boisberthelot. 

There  was  silence  again  ;  then  Boisberthelot  continued  : 

"  Still,  he  tried  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation.  He 
went  to  see  the  king.  I  was  at  Versailles  when  some- 
body spat  on  his  back.  " 

"  From  the  top  of  the  grand  staircase  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  It  was  well  done.  "7 

"  We  call  him  Bourbon  the  Bourbeux.  " 

"  He  is  bald  ;  he  has  pimples  ;  he  is  a  regicide  — 
poh  !  " 

Then  La  Yieuville  added,  — 

"  I  was  at  Ouessant  with  him.  " 

"On  the  '  Saint  Esprit'?" 

"  Yes.  " 

"  If  he  had  obeyed  the  signal  that  the  Admiral 
d'Orvilliers  made  him,  to  keep  to  the  windward,  he 
would  Jiave  kept  the  English  from  passing.  " 

"  Certainly.  " 

*  Is  it  true  that  he  was  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hold  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  it  must  be  said  all  the  same.  " 

And  La  Vieuville  burst  out  laughing. 

Boisberthelot  observed,  —   ^ 

"  There  are  idiots  enough.  Hold  !  That  Boulainvilliers 
you  were  speaking  of,  La  Vieuville, —  I  knew  him.  I 
had  a  chance  of  studying  him.  In  the  beginning,  the 
peasants  were  armed  with  pikes  :    if  he  did  not  get  it 


28  NINETY-THREE. 

into  his  head  to  make  pikemen  of  them!  He  wanted 
to  teach  them  the  manual  of  exercise,  de  la  piquc~en-biais 
et  de  la  pique-trainante-le-fer-dévant.  He  dreamed  of 
transforming  those  savages  into  soldiers  of  the  Line.  He 
proposed  to  show  them  how  to  mass  battalions  and  form 
hollow  squares.  He  jabbered  the  old-fashioned  military 
dialect  to  them  ;  for  '  chief  of  a  squad,  '  he  said  un  cap 
d'escade,  which  was  the  appellation  of  corporals  under 
Louis  XIV.  He  persisted  in  forming  a  regiment  ot 
those  poachers  :  he  had  regular  companies.  The  ser- 
geants ranged  themselves  in  a  circle  every  evening  to 
take  the  countersign  from  the  colonel's  sergeant,  who 
whispered  it  to  the  sergeant  of  the  lieutenants  ;  he  re- 
peated it  to  his  neighbour,  and  he  to  the  man  nearest  ; 
and  so  on,  from  ear  to  ear,  down  to  the  last.  He  cash- 
iered an  officer  because  he  did  not  stand  bareheaded  to 
receive  the  watchword  from  the  sergeant's  mouth.  You 
can  fancy  how  all  succeeded.  The  booby  could  not  un- 
derstand that  peasants  must  be  led  peasant  fashion,  and 
that  one  cannot  make  drilled  soldiers  out  of  woodchop- 
pers.     Yes,  I  knew  that  Boulainvilliers.  " 

They  moved  on  a  few  steps,  each  pursuing  his  own 
thoughts.     Then  the  conversation  was  renewed. 

"  By  the  way,  is  it  true  that  Dampierre  is  killed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Commander.  " 

°  Before  Condé  ?  " 

"  At  the  camp  of  Pamars,  by  a  gunshot.  * 

Boisberthelot  sighed. 

"  The  Count  de  Dampierre.  Yet  another  of  ours  who 
went  over  to  them  !  " 

"  A  good  journey  to  him,  "  said  La  Vieuville. 

"  And  the  princesses  —  where  are  they  ?  " 

a  At  Trieste.  " 

■  Still  ?  " 

"  Still.     Ah,  this  republic  !  "  cried  Vieuville.     "  What 


NOBLE  AND   PLEBEIAN   IN   CONCERT.  29 

havoc  from  such  slight  consequences  !  When  one  thinks 
that  this  revolution  was  caused  by  the  deficit  of  a  few 
millions.  " 

"  Distrust  small  outbreaks,  "  said  Boisberthelot. 

"  Everything  is  going  badly,  "  resumed  La  Vieuville. 

"  Yes  ;  La  Kouarie  is  dead  ;  Du  Dresnay  is  an  idiot. 
What  pitiful, leaders  all  those  bishops  are,  —  that  Coney, 
Bishop  of  Eochelle  ;  that  Beaupoil  Samt-Aulaire,  Bishop 
of  Poitiers  ;  that  Mercy,  Bishop  of  Lueon  and  lover  of 
Madame  de  1  'Eschasserie  —  " 

"  Whose  name  is  Servanteau,  you  know,  Commander  ; 
L 'Eschasserie  is  the  name  of  an  estate.  " 

"  And  that  false  Bishop  of  Agra,  who  is  curé  of  I 
know  not  what.  " 

"  Of  Dpi.  He  is  called  Guillot  de  Folleville.  At 
least" he  is  brave,   and  he  fights." 

"  Priests  when  soldiers  are  needed  !  Bishops  who  are 
not  bishops  !     Generals  who  are  no  generals  !  " 

La  Vieuville  interrupted  Boisberthelot. 

"  Commander,  have  s  you  the  'Moniteur  '  in  your 
cabin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  " 

"  What  are  they  playing  in  Paris  just  now  ?  " 

"  'Adèle  and  Poulin,  '  and  '  The  Casern.  '  " 

-'  I  should  vke  to  see  that.  " 

"-You  will  be  able  to.  We  shall  be  at  Paris  in  a 
month.  " 

Boisberthelot  reflected  a  moment,  and  added,  — 

"  At  the  latest.  Mr,  Windham  said  so  to  Lord 
Hood.  " 

"  But  then,  Captain,  everything  is  not  going  so  ill.  " 

"  Zounds  !  everything  would  go  well,  on  condition 
that  the  war  in  Brittany  could  be  properly  conducted.  " 

La  Vieuville  shook  his  head. 

"  Commander,  '"  he  asked,  "  do  we  land  the  marines  ?  * 


30  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Yes,  if  the  coast  is  for  us,  not  if  it  is  hostile.  Some- 
times war  must  break  down  doors,  sometimes  slip  in 
quietly.  Civil  war  ought  always  to  have  a  false  key  in 
its  pocket.  We  shall  do  all  in  our  power.  The  most 
important  is  the  chief.  " 

Then  Boisberthelot  added  thoughtfully  :  — 

"  La  Vieuville,  what  do  you  think  of  the  Chevalier  de 
Dieugie  ?  " 

"  The  younger  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  For  a  leader  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

*  That  he  is  another  officer  for  open  country  and  pitched 
battles.      Only  the  peasant  understands  the  thickets.  " 

"  Then  resign  yourself  to  General  Stofflet  and  to  Gen- 
eral Cathelineau.  " 

La  Vieuville  mused  a  while,  and  then  said,  "  It  needs 
a  prince,  —  a  prince  of  France,  a  prince  of  the  blood,  a 
true  prince.  " 

"  Why  ?     Whoever  says  prince  —  " 

*  Says  poltroon.  I  know  it,  Captain.  But  one  is 
needed  for  the  effect  on  the  big  stupid  eyes  of  the  coun- 
try lads.  " 

"  My  dear  chevalier,  the  princes  will  not  come.  " 

"  We  will  get  on  without  them.  " 

Boisberthelot  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  forehead  with 
the  mechanical  movement  of  a  man  endeavouring  to 
bring  out  some  idea.      He* exclaimed, — 

"  Well,  let  us  try  the  general  we  have  here.  " 

"  He  is  a  great  nobleman.  " 

"  Do  you  believe  he  will  answer  ?  " 

"  Provided  he  is  strong.  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  ferocious,  "  said  Boisberthelot. 

The  count  and  the  chevalier  looked  fixedly  at  each 
other. 


NOBLE  AND  PLEBEIAN  IN  CONCERT.       31 

"  Monsieur  du  Boisberthelot,  you  have  said  the  word, 
—  ferocious.  Yes  ;  that  is  what  we  need.  This  is  a 
war  without  pity.  The  hour  is  to  the  bloodthirsty. 
The  regicides  have  cut  off  Louis  XVI.  's  head  ;  we  will 
tear  off  the  four  limbs  of  the  regicides.  Yes,  the  gen- 
eral necessary  is  General  Inexorable.  In  Anjou  and 
Upper  Poitou  the  chiefs  do  the  magnanimous  ;  they 
dabble  in  generosity  :  nothing  moves  on.  In  the  Ma- 
rais and  the  country  of  Eetz,  the  chiefs  are  ferocious  : 
everything  goes  forward.  It  is  because  Charette  is  sav- 
age that  he  holds  his  own  against  Parrein  ;  it  is  hyaena 
against  hyaena.  " 

Boisberthelot  had  no  time  to  reply;  La  Vieuville's 
words  were  suddenly  cut  short  by  a  desperate  cry,  and 
at  the  same  instant  they  heard  a  noise  as  unaccountable 
as  it  was  awful.  The  cry  and  this  noise  came  from  the 
interior  of  the  vessel. 

The  captain  and  lieutenant  made  a  rush  for  the  gun- 
deck,  but  could  not  get  down.  All  the  gunners  were 
Imrrying  frantically  up. 

A  frightful  thing  had  just  happened. 


CHAPTEE   IV. 

TORMENTUM   BELLI. 

ONE  of  the  carronades  of  the  battery,  a  twenty -four 
pounder,  had  got  loose. 

This  is  perhaps  the  most  formidable  of  ocean  acci- 
dents. Nothing  more  terrible  can  happen  to  a  vessel  in 
open  sea  and  under  full  sail. 

A  gun  that  breaks  its  moorings  becomes  suddenly 
some  indescribable  supernatural  beast.  It  is  a  machine 
which  transforms  itself  into  a  monster.  This  mass  tarns 
upon  its  wheels,  has  the  rapid  movements  of  a  billiard- 
ball  ;  rolls  with  the  rolling,  pitches  with  the  pitching  ; 
goes,  comes,  pauses,  seems  to  meditate  ;  resumes  its 
course,  rushes  along  the  ship  from  end  to  end  like  an 
arrow,  circles  about,  springs  aside,  evades,  rears,  breaks, 
kills,  exterminates.  It  is  a  battering-ram  which  as- 
saults a  wall  at  its  own  caprice.  Moreover,  the  batter- 
ing-ram is  metal,  the  wall  wood.  It  is  the  entrance  of 
matter  into  liberty.  One  might  say  that  this  eternal 
slave  avenges  itself.  It  seems  as  if  the  power  of  evil 
hidden  in  what  we  call  inanimate  objects  finds  a  vent 
and  bursts  suddenly  out.  It  has  an  air  of  having  lost 
patience,  of  seeking  some  fierce,  obscure  retribution; 
nothing  more  inexorable  than  this  rage  of  the  inanimate. 
The  mad  mass  has  the  bounds  of  a  panther,  the  weight 
of  the  elephant,  the  agility  of  the  mouse,  the  obstinacy 
of  the  axe,  the  unexpectedness  of  the  surge,  the  rapidity 


TORMENTUM  BELLI.  33 

of  lightning,  the  deafness  of  the  tomb.  It  weighs  ten 
thousand  pounds,  and  it  rebounds  like  a  child's  ball. 
Its  flight  is  a  wild  whirl  abruptly  cut  at  right  angles. 
What  is  to  be  done  ?  How  to  end  this  ?  A  tempest 
ceases,  a  cyclone  passes,  a  wind  falls,  a  broken  mast  is 
replaced,  a  leak  is  stopped,  a  fire  dies  out  ;  but  how  to 
control  this  enormous  brute  of  bronze  ?  In  what  way 
can  one  attack  it  ? 

You  can  make  a  mastiff  hear  reason,  astound  a  bull, 
fascinate  a  boa,  frighten  a  tiger,  soften  a  lion  ;  but  there 
is  no  resource  with  that  monster,  —  a  cannon  let  loose 
You  cannot  kill  it,  —  it  is  dead  ;  at  the  same  time  it 
lives.  It  lives  with  a  sinister  life  bestowed  on  it  by 
Infinity. 

The  planks  beneath  it  give  it  play.  It  is  moved  by 
the  ship,  which  is  moved  by  the  sea,  which  is  moved 
by  the  wind.  This  destroyer  is  a  plaything  The  ship, 
the  waves,  the  blasts,  all  aid  it  ;  hence  its  frightful 
vitality.  How  to  assail  this  fury  of  complication  ? 
How  to  fetter  this  monstrous  mechanism  for  wrecking 
a  ship  ?  How  foresee  its  comings  and  goings,  its  re- 
turns, its  stops,  its  shocks?  Any  "one  of  these  blows 
upon  the  sides  may  stave  out  the  vessel.  How  divine 
its  awful  gyrations  !  One  has  to  deal  with  a  projectile 
which  thinks,  seems  to  possess  ideas,  and  which  changes 
its  direction  at  each  instant.  How  stop  the  course  of 
something  which  must  be  avoided  ?  The  horrible  cannon 
flings  itself  about,  advances,  recoils,  strikes  to  the  right, 
strikes  to  the  left,  flees,  passes,  disconcerts  ambushes, 
breaks  down  obstacles,  crushes  men  like  flies.  The  great 
danger  of  the  situation  is  in  the  mobility  of  its  base. 
How  combat  an  inclined  plane  which  has  caprices  ?  The 
ship,  so  to  speak,  has  lightning  imprisoned  in  its  womb 
which  seeks  to  escape  ;  it  is  like  thunder  rolling  above 
an  earthquake. 


34  NINETY-THREE. 

In  an  instant  the  whole  crew  were  on  foot.  The 
fault  was  the  chief  gunner's  ;  he  had  neglected  to  fix 
home  the  screw-nut  of  the  mooring-chain,  and  had  so 
badly  shackled  the  four  wheels  of  the  carronade  that  the 
play  given  to  the  sole  and  frame  had  separated  the  plat- 
form, and  ended  by  breaking  the  breeching.  The  cord- 
age had  broken,  so  that  the  gun  was  no  longer  secure  on 
the  carriage.  The  stationary  breeching  which  prevents 
recoil  was  not  in  use  at  that  period.  As  a  heavy 
wave  struck  the  port,  the  carronade,  weakly  attached, 
recoiled,  burst  its  chain,  and  began  to  rush  wildly 
about.  Conceive,  in  order  to  have  an  idea  of  this 
strange  sliding,  a  drop  of  water  running  down  a  pane 
of  glass. 

At  the  moment  when  the  lashings  gave  way  the  gun- 
ners were  in  the  battery,  some  in  groups,  others  stand- 
ing alone,  occupied  with  such  duties  as  sailors  perform 
in  expectation  of  the  command  to  clear  for  action.  The 
carronade,  hurled  forward  by  the  pitching,  dashed  into 
this  knot  of  men,  and  crushed  four  at  the  first  blow; 
then,  flung  back  and  shot  out  anew  by  the  rolling,  it  cut 
in  two  a  fifth  poor  fellow,  glanced  off  to  the  larboard 
side,  and  struck  a  piece  of  the  battery  with  such  force 
as  to  unship  it.  Then  rose  the  cry  of  distress  which 
had  been  heard.  The  men  rushed  toward  the  ladder; 
the  gun-deck  emptied  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  The 
enormous  cannon  was  left  alone.  She  was  given  up  to 
herself.  She  was  her  own  mistress,  and  mistress  of  the 
vessel.  She  could  do  what  she  willed  with  both.  This 
whole  crew,  accustomed  to  laugh  in  battle,  trembled 
now.  To  describe  the  universal  terror  would  be 
impossible. 

Captain  Boisberthelot  and  Lieutenant  Vieuville,  al- 
though both  intrepid  men,  stopped  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,    and  remained   mute,    pale,    hesitating,    looking 


TORMENTUM  BELLI.  35 

down  on  the  deck.  Some  one  pushed  them  aside  with 
his  elbow  and  descended. 

It  was  their  passenger,  the  peasant,  —  the  man  of 
whom  they  had  been  speaking  a  moment  before. 

When  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  he  stood  still. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

VIS  ET  VIE. 

THE  cannon  came  and  went  along  the  deck.  One 
might  have  fancied  it  the  living  chariot  of  the 
Apocalypse.  The  marine-lantern,  oscillating  from  the 
ceiling,  added  a  dizzying  whirl  of  lights  and  shadows  to 
this  vision.  The  shape  of  the  cannon  was  undistinguish- 
able  from  the  rapidity  of  its  course  ;  now  it  looked  black 
in  the  light,  now  it  cast  weird  reflections  through  the 
gloom. 

It  kept  on  its  work  of  destruction.  It  had  already 
shattered  four  other  pieces,  and  dug  two  crevices  in  the 
side,  fortunately  above  the  water-line,  though  they  would 
leak  in  case  a  squall  should  come  on.  It  dashed  itself 
frantically  against  the  frame-work  ;  the  solid  tie-beams 
resisted,  their  curved  form  giving  them  great  strength, 
but  they  creaked  ominously  under  the  assaults  of  this 
terrible  club,  which  seemed  endowed  with  a  sort  of  ap- 
palling ubiquity,  striking  on  every  side  at  once.  The 
strokes  of  a  bullet  shaken  in  a  bottle  would  not  be  madder 
or  more  rapid.  The  four  wheels  passed  and  repassed  above 
the  dead  men,  cut,  carved,  slashed  them,  till  the  five 
corpses  were  a  score  of  stumps  rolling  about  the  deck  ; 
the  heads  seem  to  cry  out  ;  streams  of  blood  twisted  in 
and  out  of  the  planks  with  every  pitch  of  the  vessel. 
The  ceiling,  damaged  in  several  places,  began  to  gape. 
The  whole  ship  was  filled  with  the  awful  tumult. 

The  captain  promptly  recovered  his  composure,  and  at 
his  order  the  sailors  threw  down  into  the  deck  everything 


VIS   ET  VIR.  37 

which  could  deaden  and  check  the  mad  rush  of  the  gun, 
■ —  mattresses,  hammocks,  spare  sails,  coils  of  rope,  extra 
equipments,  and  the  bales  of  false  assignats  of  which  the 
corvette  carried  a  whole  cargo  :  an  infamous  deception 
which  the  English  considered  a  fair  trick  in  war. 

But  what  could  these  rags  avail  ?  No  one  dared  de- 
scend to  arrange  them  in  any  useful  fashion,  and  in  a 
few  instants  they  were  mere  heaps  of  lint. 

There  was  just  sea  enough  to  render  an  accident  as 
complete  as  possible.  A  tempest  would  have  been  de- 
sirable, —  it  might  have  thrown  the  gun  upside  down; 
and  the  four  wheels  once  in  the  air,  the  monster  could 
have  been  mastered.  But  the  devastation  increased. 
There  were  gashes  and  even  fractures  in  the  masts, 
which,  imbedded  in  the  woodwork  of  the  keel,  pierce 
the  decks  of  ships  like  great  round  pillars.  The  mizzen 
mast  was  cracked,  and  the  main-mast  itself  was  injured 
under  the  convulsive  blows  of  the  gun.  The  battery  was 
being  destroyed.  Ten  pieces  out  of  the  thirty  were  dis- 
abled ;  the  breaches  multiplied  in  the  side,  and  the  cor- 
vette began  to  take  in  water. 

The  old  passenger,  who  had  descended  to  the  gun- 
deck,  looked  like  a  form  of  stone  stationed  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs.  He  stood  motionless,  gazing  sternly  about 
upon  the  devastation.  Indeed,  it  seemed  impossible  to 
take  a  single  step  forward. 

Each  bound  of  the  liberated  carronade  menaced  the 
destruction  of  the  vessel.  A  few  minutes  more  and 
shipwreck  would  be  inevitable. 

They  must  perish  or  put  a  summary  end  to  the  disas- 
ter.    A  decision  must  be  made  — ■  but  how  ? 

What  a  combatant  —  this  cannon' 

They  must  check  this  mad  monster.  They  must  seize 
this  flash  of  lightning.  They  must  overthrow  thie 
thunderbolt 


38  NINETY-THREE. 

Boisberthelot  said  to  La  Vieuville  :  — 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God,  Chevalier  ?  " 

La  Vieuville  replied, — 

"  Yes.     No.      Sometimes.  " 

"  In   a  tempest  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  in  moments  like  this.  * 

"  Only  God  can  aid  us  here,  "  said  Boisberthelot. 

All  were  silent  :  the  cannon  kept  up  its  horrible 
fracas. 

The  waves  beat  against  the  ship  ;  their  blows  from 
without  responded  to  the  strokes  of  the  cannon. 

It  was  like  two  hammers  alternating. 

Suddenly,  into  the  midst  of  this  sort  of  inaccessible 
circus,  where  the  escaped  cannon  leaped  and  bounded, 
there  sprang  a  man  with  an  iron  bar  in  his  hand.  It 
was  the  author  of  this  catastrophe,  — the  gunner  whose 
culpable  negligence  had  caused  the  accident;  the  cap- 
tain of  the  gun.  Having  been  the  means  of  bringing 
about  the  misfortune,  he  desired  to  repair  it.  He  had 
caught  up  a  handspike  in  one  fist,  a  tiller-rope  with  a 
slipping-noose  in  the  other,  and  jumped  down  into  the 
gun-deck. 

Then  a  strange  combat  began,  a  titanic  strife, —  the 
struggle  of  the  gun  against  the  gunner  ;  a  battle  between 
matter  and  intelligence  ;  a  duel  between  the  inanimate 
and  the  human. 

The  man  was  posted  in  an  angle,  the  bar  and  rope  in 
his  two  fists;  backed  .against  one  of  the  riders,  settled 
firmly  on  his  legs  as  on  two  pillars  of  steel ,  livid,  calm, 
tragic,  rooted  as  it  were  in  the  planks,  he  waited. 

He  waited  for  the  cannon  to  pass  near  him. 

The  gunner  knew  his  piece,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  she  must  recognize  her  master.  He  had  lived  a 
long  while  with  her.  How  many  times  he  had  thrust 
his   hand   between  her  jaws  !     It  was  his  tame  mon- 


VIS  ET  VIR.  39 

ster.     He  began  to  address   it  as  he  might  have  done 
his  dog. 

"''  Come  !  "  said  he.     Perhaps  he  loved  it. 

He  seemed  to  wish  that  it  would  turn  toward  him. 

But  to  come  toward  him  would  be  to  spring  upon 
him.  Then  he  would  be  lost.  How  to  avoid  its  crush  ? 
There  was  the  question.     All  stared  in  terrified  silence. 

Not  a  breast  respired  freely,  except  perchance  that  of 
the  old  man  who  alone  stood  in  the  deck  with  the  two 
combatants,  a  stern  second. 

He  might  himself  be  crushed  by  the  piece.  He  did 
not  stir. 

Beneath  them,  the  blind  sea  directed  the  battle. 

At  the  instant  when,  accepting  this  awful  hand-to- 
hand  contest,  the  gunner  approached  to  challenge  the 
cannon,  some  chance  fluctuation  of  the  waves  kept  it  for 
a  moment  immovable,  as  if  suddenly  stupefied. 

"  Come  on  !  "  the  man  said  to  it.      It  seemed  to  listen. 

Suddenly  it  darted  upon  him.  The  gunner  avoided 
the  shdck. 

The  struggle  began,  —  struggle  unheard  of.  The  frag- 
ile matching  itself  against  the  invulnerable.  The  thing 
of  flesh  attacking  the  brazen  brute.  On  the  one  side 
blind  force,  on  the  other  a  soul. 

The  whole  passed  in  a  half-light.  It  was  like  the  in- 
distinct  vision  of  a  miracle. 

A  soui; — strange  thing  ;  but  you  would  have  said  that 
the  cannon  had  one  also,  —  a  soul  filled  with  rage  and 
hatred.  This  blindness  appeared  to  have  eyes.  The 
monster  had  the  air  of  watching  the  man.  There  was 
—  one  might  have  fancied  so  at  least  —  cunning  in  this 
mass.  It  also  chose  its  moment.  It  became  some 
gigantic  insect  of  metal,  having,  or  seeming  to  have, 
the  will  of  a  demon.  Sometimes  this  colossal  grass- 
hopper would  strike  the  low  ceiling  of  the  gun-deck. 


40  NINETY-THREE, 

then  fall  back  on  its  four  wheels  like  a  tiger  upon  its 
four  claws,  and  dart  anew  on  the  man.  He,  supple, 
agile,  adroit,  would  glide  away  like  a  snake  from  the 
reach  of  these  lightning-like  movements.  He  avoided 
the  encounters  ;  but  the  blows  which  he  escaped  fell 
upon  the  vessel  and  continued  the  havoc. 

An  end  of  broken  chain  remained  attached  to  the 
carronade.  This  chain  had  twisted  itself,  one  could  not 
tell  how,  about  the  screw  of  the  breech-button.  One 
extremitv  of  the  chain  was  fastened  to  the  carriage. 
The  other,  hanging  loose,  whirled  wildly  about  the  gun 
and  added  to  the  danger  of  its  blows. 

The  screw  held  it  like  a  clinched  hand,  and  the  chain 
multiplying  the  strokes  of  the  battering-ram  by  its 
strokes  of  a  thong,  made  a  fearful  whirlwind  about  the 
cannon,  —  a  whip  of  iron  in  a  fist  of  brass.  This  chain 
complicated  the  battle. 

Nevertheless,  the  man  fought.  Sometimes,  even,  it 
was  the  man  who  attacked  the  cannon.  He  crept  along 
the  side,  bar  and  rope  in  hand,  and  the  cannon  had  the 
air  of  understanding,  and  fled  as  if  it  perceived  a  snare. 
The  man  pursued  it,  formidable,  fearless. 

Such  a  duel  could  not  last  long.  The  gun  seemed 
suddenly  to  say  to  itself,  "  Come,  we  must  make  an 
end  !  "  and  it  paused.  One  felt  the  approach  of  the 
crisis.  The  cannon,  as  if  in  suspense,  appeared  to  have, 
or  had,  —  because  it  seemed  to  all  a  sentient  being.  —  a 
furious  premeditation.  It  sprang  unexpectedly  upon  the 
gunner.  He  jumped  aside,  let  it  pass,  and  cried  out 
with  a  laugh,  "  Try  again  !  "  The  gun,  as  if  in  a  fury, 
broke  a  carronade  to  larboard  ;  then,  seized  anew  by  the 
invisible  sling  which  held  it,  was  flung  to  starboard 
toward  the  man,  who  escaped. 

Three  carronades  gave  way  under  the  blows  of  the 
gun  ;  then,  as  if  blind  and  no  longer  conscious  of  what 


VIS  ET  VIR.  41 

It  was  doing,  it  turned  its  back  on  the  man,  rolled  from 
the  stern  to  the  bow,  bruising  the  stem  and  making  a 
breach  in  the  plankings  of  the  prow.  The  gunner  had 
taken  refuge  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  a  few  steps  from 
the  old  man,   who  was  watching. 

The  gunner  held  his  handspike  in  rest.  The  cannon 
seemed  to  perceive  him,  and,  without  taking  the  trouble 
to  turn  itself,  backed  upon  him  with  the  quickness 
of  an  axe-stroke.  The  gunner,  if  driven  back  against 
the  side  was  lost.  •  The  crew  uttered  a  simultaneous 
cry. 

But  the  old  passenger,  until  now  immovable,  made  a 
spring  more  rapid  than  all  those  wild  whirls.  He  seized 
a  bale  of  the  false  assignats,  and  at  the  risk  of  being 
crushed,  succeeded  in  flinging  it  between  the  wheels  of 
the  carronade.  This  manoeuvre,  decisive  and  dangerous, 
could  not  Jiave  been  executed  with  more  adroitness  and 
precision  by  a  man  trained  to  all  the  exercises  set  down 
in  Durosel's  "  Manual  of  Sea  Gunnery.  " 

The  bale  had  the  effect  of  a  plug.  A  pebble  may 
stop  a  log,  a  tree-branch  turn  an  avalanche.  The  car- 
ronade stumbled.  The  gunner,  in  his  turn,  seizing 
this  terrible  chance,  plunged  his  iron  bar  between  the 
spokes  of  one  of  the  hind  wheels.  The  cannon  was 
stopped. 

It  staggered.  The  man,  using  the  bar  as  a  lever, 
rocked  it  to  and  fro.  The  heavy  mass  turned  over  with 
a  clang  like  a  falling  bell,  and  the  gunner,  dripping 
with  sweat,  rushed  forward  headlong  and  passed  the 
slipping-noose  of  the  tiller-rope  about  the  bronze  neck 
of  the  overthrown  monster. 

It  was  ended.  The  man  had  conquered.  The  ant 
had  subdued  the  mastodon  ;  the  pygmy  had  taken  the 
thunderbolt  prisoner. 

The  marines  and  the  sailors  clapped  their  hands. 


42  NINETY-THREE. 

The  whole  crew  hurried  down  with  cables  and  chains, 
and  in  an  instant  the  cannon  was  securely  lashed. 

The  gunner  saluted  the  passenger. 

"  Sir,  "  he  said  to  him,  "  you  have  saved  my  life.  " 

The  old  man  had  resumed  his  impassible  attitude,  and 
did  not  reply. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  TWO  SCALES   OF   THE   BALANCE. 

THE  man  had  conquered,  but  one  might  say  that 
the  cannon  had  conquered  also.  Immediate  ship- 
wreck had  been  avoided,  but  the  corvette  was  by  no 
means  saved.  The  dilapidation  of  the  vessel  seemed 
irremediable.  The  sides  had  five  breaches,  one  of  which, 
very  large*  was  in  the  bow.  Out  of  the  thirty  carron- 
ades,  twenty  lay  useless  in  their  frames.  The  carron- 
ade,  which  had  been  captured  and  rechained,  was  itself 
disabled  :  the  screw  of  the  breech-button  was  forced,  and 
the  levelling  of  the  piece  impossible  in  consequence. 
The  battery  was  "reduced  to  nine  pieces.  The  hold  had 
sprung  a  leak.  It  was  necessary  at  once  to  repair  the 
damages  and  set  the  pumps  to  work. 

The  gun-dêck,  now  that  one  had  time  to  look  about  it, 
offered  a  terrible  spectacle.  The  interior  of  a  mad  ele- 
phant's cage  could  not  have  been  more  completely 
dismantled. 

However  great  the  necessity  that  the  corvette  should 
escape  observation,  a  still  more  imperious  necessity  pre- 
sented itself,' — immediate  safety.  It  had  been  necessary 
to  light  up  the  deck  by  lanterns  placed  here  and  there 
along  the  sides. 

But  during  the  whole  time  this  tragic  diversion  had 
lasted,  the  crew  were  so  absorbed  by  the  one  question  of 
life  or  death  that  they  noticed  little  what  was  passing 
outside  the  scene  of  the  duel.     The  fog  had  thickened  ; 


44  NINETY-THREE. 

the  weather  had  changed  ;  the  wind  had  driven  the  ves« 
sel  at  will  ;  it  had  got  out  of  its  route,  in  plain  sight  oi 
Jersey  and  Guernsey,  farther  to  the  south  than  it  ought 
to  have  gone,  and  was  surrounded  by  a  troubled  sea. 
The  great  waves  kissed  the  gaping  wounds  of  the  cor- 
vette, —  kisses  full  of  peril.  The  sea  rocked  her  men- 
acingly. The  breeze  became  a  gale.  A  squall,  a  tempest 
perhaps,  threatened.  It  was  impossible  to  see  before 
one  four  oars'  length. 

While  the  crew  were  repairing  summarily  and  in 
haste  the  ravages  of  the  gun-deck,  stopping  the  leaks 
and  putting  back  into  position  the  guns  which  had  es- 
caped the  disaster,  the  old  passenger  had  gone  on  deck. 

He  stood  with  his  back  against  the  main-mast. 

He  had  paid  no  attention  to  a  proceeding  which  had 
taken  place  on  the  vessel  The  Chevalier  La  Vieuville 
had  drawn  up  the  marines  in  line  on  either  side  of  the 
main-mast,  and  at  the  whistle  of  the  boatswain  the 
sailors  busy  in  the  rigging  stood  upright  on  the  yards. 

Count  du  Boisberthelot  advanced  toward  the  passenger. 

Behind  the  captain  marched  a  man,  haggard,  breath- 
less, his  dress  in  disorder,  yet  wearing  a  satisfied  look 
under  it  all.  It 'was  the  gunner  who  had  just  now  so 
opportunely  shown  himself  a  tamer  of  monsters,  and  who 
had  got  the  better  of  the,  cannon. 

The  count  made  a  military  salute  to  the  unknown  in 
peasant  garb,  and  said  to  him  :  — 

"  General,  here  is  the  man.  " 

The  gunner  held  himself  erect,  his  eyes  downcast, 
standing  in  a  soldierly  attitude. 

Count  du  Boisberthelot  continued,  — 

"  General,  taking  into  consideration  what  this  man 
has  done,  do  you  not  think  there  is  something  for  his 
commanders  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  think  there  is,  "  said  the  old  man. 


THE   TWO  SCALES  OF  THE  BALANCE.  45 

"  Be  good  enough  to  give  the  orders,  "  returned 
Boisbertlielot. 

"  It  is  for  you  to  give  them.     You  are  the  captain.  n 

"  But  you  are  the  general,  "  answered  Boisberthelot. 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  gunner. 

"'  Approach,  "  said  he. 

The  gunner  moved  forward  a  step.  The  old  man 
turned  toward  Count  du  Boisberthelot,  detached  the 
cross  of  Saint  Louis  from  the  captain's  uniform  and 
fastened  it  on  the  jacket  of  the  gunner. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  the  sailors. 

The  marines  presented  arms.  The  old  passenger, 
pointing  with  his  finger  toward  the  bewildered  gunner, 
added,  — 

"  Now  let  that  man  be  shot.  " 

Stupor  succeeded  the  applause. 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  a  silence  like  that  of  the  tomb, 
the  old  man  raised  his  voice.     He  said,  — 

"A  negligence  has  endangered  this  ship.  At  this 
moment  she  is  perhaps  lost.  To  be  at  sea  is  to  face  the 
enemy.  A  vessel  at  open  sea  is  an  army  which  gives 
battle.  The-  tempest  conceals,  but  does  not  absent  it- 
self. The  whole  sea  is  an  ambuscade.  Death  is  the 
penalty  of  any  fault  committed  in  the  face  of  the  enemy. 
No  fault  is  reparable.  Courage  ought  to  be  rewarded 
and  negligence  punished.  " 

These  words  fell  one  after  the  other,  slowly,  solemnly, 
with  a  sort  of  inexorable  measure,  like  the  blows  of  an 
axe  upon  an  oak. 

And  the  old  man,  turning  to  the  soldiers,  added,  — 

a  Do  your  duty.  " 

The  man  upon  whose  breast  shone  the  cross  of  Saint 
Louis  bowed  his  head 

At  a  sign  from  Count  du  Boisberthelot,  two  sailors 
descended  between  decks,  then  returned,  bringing  the 


46  NINETY-THREE. 

hammock  winding-sheet.  The  ship's  chaplain,  who 
since  the  time  of  sailing  had  been  at  prayer  in  the  offi- 
cers '  quarters,  accompanied  the  two  sailors  ;  a  sergeant 
detached  from  the  line  twelve  marines,  whom  he  ar- 
ranged in  two  ranks,  six  by  six;  the  gunner,  without 
uttering  a  word,  placed  himself  between  the  two  files. 
The  chaplain,  crucifix  in  hand,  advanced  and  stood  near 
him. 

"  March  !  "  said  the  sergeant. 

The  platoon  moved  with  slow  steps  toward  the  bow. 
The  two  sailors  who  carried  the  shroud  followed. 
<  A  gloomy  silence  fell  upon  the  corvette.     A  hurricane 
moaned  in  the  distance. 

A  fewc  instants  later  there  was  a  flash  ;  a  report  fol- 
lowed, echoing  among  the  shadows  ;  then  all  was  silent  ; 
then  came  the  thud  of  a  body  falling  into  the  sea. 

The  old  passenger  still  leaned  back  against  the  main- 
mast with  folded  arms,  thinking  silently. 

Boisberthelot  pointed  toward  him  with  the  forefinger 
of  his  left  hand,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  to  La  Vieuville  : 

"  The  Vendée  has  found  a  head  I  * 


CHAPTER  VIL 

HE,  WHO  SETS  SAIL  PUTS  INTO  A  LOTTERY. 

BUT  what  was  to  become  of  the  corvette  ? 
The  clouds,  which  the  whole  night  through  had 
touched  the  waves,  now  lowered  so  thickly  that  the 
horizon  was  no  longer  visible  ;  the  sea  seemed  to  be 
covered  with  a  pall.  Nothing  to  be  seen  but  fog, —  a 
situation  always  perilous,  even  for  a  vessel  in  good 
condition. 

Added  to  the  mist  came  the  surging  swell. 

The  time  had  been  used  to  good  purpose  :  the  corvette 
had  been  lightened  by  throwing  overboard  everything 
which  could -be  cleared  from  the  havoc  made  by  the 
carronade,  —  the  dismantled  guns,  the  broken  carriages, 
frames  twisted  or  unnailed,  the  fragments  of  splintered 
wood  and  iron  ;  the  port-holes  had  been  opened,  and  the 
corpses  and  parts  of  bodies,  enveloped  in  tarpaulin,  were 
slid  down  planks  into  the  waves. 

The  sea  was  no  longer  manageable.  Not  that  the 
tempest  was  imminent  ;  it  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  that 
the  hurricane  rustling  behind  the  horizon  decreased, 
and  the  squall  was  moving  northward;  but  the  waves 
were  very  high  still,  which  indicated  disturbance  in  the 
depths.  The  corvette  could  offer  slight  resistance  to 
shocks  in  her  crippled  condition,  so  that  the  great  waves 
might  prove  fatal  to  her. 


48  NINETY-THREE. 

Gacquoil  stood  thoughtfully  at  the  helm. 

To  face  ill-fortune  with  a  bold  front  is  the  habit  of 
those  accustomed  to  rule  at  sea. 

La  Vieuville,  who  was  the  sort  of  man  that  becomes 
gay  in  the  midst  of  disaster,  accosted  Gacquoil. 

"  Well,  pilot,  "  said  he,   "  the  squall  has  missed  fire. 
Its   attempt  at  sneezing  comes  to  nothing.     We  shall 
get  out  of  it.     We  shall  have  wind,  and  that  is  all.  " 
'  Gacquoil  replied,    seriously,    "  Where   there  is  wind 
there  are  waves.  " 

Neither  laughing  nor  sad,  such  is  the  sailor.  The 
response  had  a  disquieting  significance.  For  a  leaky 
ship  to  encounter  a  high  sea  is  to  fill  rapidly.  Gacquoil 
emphasized  his  prognostic  by  a  frown.  Perhaps  La 
Vieu ville  had  spoken  almost  jovial  and  gay  words  a 
little  too  soon  after  the  catastrophe  of  the  gun  and  its 
gunner.  There  are  things  which  bring  bad  luck  at  sea. 
The  ocean  is  secretive  ;  one  never  knows  what  it  means 
to  do  ;  it  is  necessary  to  be  always  on  guard  against  it. 

La  Vieuville  felt  the  necessity  of  getting  back  to 
gravity. 

"  Where  are  we,  pilot  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  pilot  replied, — 

"  We  are  in  the  hands  of  God.  " 

A  pilot  is  a  master  ;  he  must  always  be  allowed  to 
do  what  he  will,  and  often  he  must  be  allowed  to  say 
what  he  pleases.  Generally  this  species  of  man  speaks 
little. 

La  Vieuville  moved  away.  He  had  asked  a  question 
of  the  pilot;  it  was  the  horizon  which  replied.  The 
sea  suddenly  cleared. 

The  fogs  which  trailed  across  the  waves  were  quickly 
rent;  the  dark  confusion  of  the  billows  spread  out  to 
the  horizon's  verge  in  a  shadowy  half-light,  and  this 
was  what  became  visible:  — 


HE  WHO  SETS  SAIL  PUTS  INTO  A  LOTTERY.  49 

The  sky  seemed  covered  with  a  lid  of  clouds,  but  they 
no  longer  touched  the  water;  in  the  east  appeared  a 
whiteness,  which  was  the  dawn  ;  in  the  west  trembled 
a  corresponding  pallor,  which  was  the  setting  moon. 
These  two  ghostly  presences  drew  opposite  each  other 
narrow  bands  of  pale  lights  along  the  horizon,  between 
the  sombre  sea  and  the  gloomy  sky. 

Across  each  of  these  lines  of  light  were  sketched  black 
profiles,  upright  and  immovable. 

To  the  west,  against  the  moonlight  sky,  stood  out 
sharply  three  lofty  rocks,'  erect  as  Celtic  cromlechs. 

To  the  east,  against  the  pale  horizon  of  morning,  rose 
eight  sail,  ranged  in  order  at  regular  intervals  in  a  for- 
midable array. 

The  three  rocks  were  a  reef;  the  eight  ships,  a 
squadron. 

Behind  the  vessel  was  the  Minquiers, —  a  rock  of  an 
evil  renown  ;  before  her,  the  French  cruisers.  To  the 
west,  the  abyss  ;  to  the  east,  carnage  :  she  was  between 
a  shipwreck  and  a  combat. 

For  meeting  the  reef,  the  corvette  had  a  broken  hull, 
rigging  disjointed,  masts  tottering  in  their  foundations  ; 
for  facing  battle,  she  had  a  battery  where  one-and- 
twenty  cannon  out  of  thirty  were  dismounted,  and  whose 
best  gunners  were  dead. 

The  dawn  was  yet  faint  ;  there  still  remained  a  little 
night  to  them.  This  might  even  last  for  some  time, 
since  it  was  principally  made  by  thick,  high  clouds  pre- 
senting the  solid  appearance  of  a  vault. 

The  wind,  which  had  succeeded  in  dispersing  the  lower 
mists,  was  forcing  the  corvette  toward  the  Minquiers. 

In  her  excessive  feebleness  and  dilapidation,  she 
scarcely  obeyed  the  helm  ;  she  rolled  rather  than  sailed, 
and,  smitten  by  the  waves,  she  yielded  passively  to 
their  impulse. 


50  MNETY-THEEJS. 

The  Minquiers,  a  dangerous  reef,  was  still  more 
rugged  at  that  time  than  it  is  now.  Several  towers  of 
this  citadel  of  the  abyss  have  been  razed  by  the  inces- 
sant chopping  of  the  sea.  The  configuration  of  reefs 
changes.  It  is  not  idly  that  waves  are  called  the 
swords  of  the  ocean  ;  each  tide  is  the  stroke  of  a  saw. 
At  that  period,  to  strike  on  the  Minquiers  was  to 
perish. 

As  for  the  cruisers,  they  were  the  squadron  of  Cancale, 
afterward  so  celebrated  under  the  command  of  that  Cap- 
tain Duchesne  whom  Léquinio  called  Father  Duchesne. 

The  situation  was  critical.  During  the  struggle  of 
the  unchained  carronade,  the  corvette  had,  unobserved, 
got  out  of  her  course,  and  sailed  rather  toward  Granville 
than  Saint  Malo.  Even  if  she  had  been  in  a  condition 
to  have  been  handled  and  to  carry  sail,  the  Minquiers 
would  have  barred  her  return  toward  Jersey,  and  the 
cruisers  would  have  prevented  her  reaching  France. 

For  the  rest,  tempest  there  was  none.  But,  as  the 
pilot  had  said,  there  was  a  swell.  The  sea,  rolling 
under  a  rough  wind  and  above  a  rocky  bottom,  was 
savage. 

The  sea  never  says  at  once  what  it  wishes.  The  gulf 
hides  everything,  even  trickery.  One  might  almost  say 
that  the  sea  has  a  plan.  It  advances  and  recoils  ;  it  pro- 
poses and  contradicts  itself;  it  sketches  a  storm  and 
renounces  its  design  ;  it  promises  the  abyss,  and  does 
not  hold  to  it;  it  threatens  the  north,  and  strikes  the 
south. 

All  night  the  corvette  "  Claymore  "  had  had  the  fog 
and  the  fear  of  the  storm.  The  sea  had  belied  itself,  but 
in  a  savage  fashion  ;  it  had  sketched  in  the  tempest,  but 
developed  the  reef.  It  was  shipwreck  just  the  same,, 
under  another  form. 

So  that  to  destruction  upon  the  rocks  was  added  ex- 


HE  WHO  SETS  SAIL  PUTS  INTO  A  LOTTERY.  51 

termination  by  combat, —  one  enemy  complementing  the 

other. 

La  Vieuville  cried  amid  his  brave  merriment:  — 

"  Shipwreck  here  —  battle  there  !     We  have  thrown 

double  fives  !  " 


CHAPTEE  VÏIL 

9  =  380. 

nr^HE  corvette  was  little  more  than  a  wreck. 

-*■  In  the  wan,  dim  light,  midst  the  blackness  oi 
the  clouds,  in  the  confused,  changing  line  of  the  horizon, 
in  the  mysterious  sullenness  of  the  waves,  there  was  a 
sepulchral  solemnity.  Except  for  the  hissing  breath  of 
the  hostile  wind,  all  was  silent.  The  catastrophe  rose 
with  majesty  from  the  gulf.  It  resembled  rather  an 
apparition  than  an  attack.  Nothing  stirred  among  the 
rocks;  nothing  moved  on  the  vessels.  It  wa .3  an  in- 
describable, colossal  silence.  Had  they  to  deal  with 
something  real  ?  One  might  have  believed  it  a  dream 
sweeping  across  the  sea  ;  there  are  legends  of  such 
visions.  The  corvette  was  in  a  manner  between  the 
demon  reef  and  the  phantom  fleet. 

Count  du  Boisberthelot  gave  orders  in  a  half-voice  to 
La  Vieuville,  who  descended  to  the  gun-deck  ;  then  the 
captain  seized  his  telescope  and  stationed  himself  at  the 
stern  by  the  side  of  the  pilot. 

Gacquoil's  whole  effort  was  to  keep  the  corvette  to  the 
wind  ;  for  if  struck  on  the  side  by  the  wind  and  the  sea, 
she  would  inevitably  capsize. 

"  Pilot,  "  said  the  captain,  "  where  are  we  ?  * 

"  Off  the  Minquiers.  " 

*  On  which  side  ?  " 
■  The  bad  one.  " 

*  What  bottom  ?  " 


9  =  380.  53 

*  Small  rocks.  » 

*  Can  we  turn  broadside  on  ?  " 

"  We  can  always  die,  "  said  the  pilot. 

The  captain  levelled  his  glass  toward  the  west  and 
examined  the  itylinquiers  ;  then  he  turned  to  the  east 
and  studied  the  sail  in  sight. 

The  pilot  continued,  as  if  talking  to  himself:  — 

"  It  is  the  Minquiers.  It  is  where  the  laughing  sea 
mew  and  the  ^reat  black-hooded  gull  rest,  when  they 
make  for  Holland.," 

In  the  mean  time  the  captain  counted  the  sail. 

There  were,  indeed,  eight  vessels,  drawn  up  in  line, 
and  lifting  their- warlike  profiles  above  the  water.  Id 
the  centre  was  seen  the  lofty  sweep  of  a  three-decker. 

The  captain  questioned  the  pilot. 

"  Do  you  know  those  ships  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes  !  "  replied  Gacquoil. 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  squadron.  " 

"  Of  France  ?  " 

"  Of  the  devil.  " 

There  was  a  silence.     The  captain  resumed  :  — 

"  The  whole  body  of  cruisers  are  there.  " 

"  Not  all.  " 

In  fact,  on  the  2d  of  April,  Valazé  had  announced  to 
the  Convention  that  ten  frigates  and  six  ships-of-the- 
line  were  cruising  in  the  Channel.  The  recollection  of 
this  came  into  the  captain's  mind. 

"  Eight,  "  said  he  ;  "  the  squadron  consists  of  sixteen 
vessels.     There  are  only  eight  here.  " 

"  The  rest,  *  said  Gacquoil,  "  are  lagging  below,  the 
whole  length  of  the  coast,   and  on  the  look-out.  " 

The  captain,  still  with  his  glass  to  his  eye,  murmured  : 

"  A  three-decker,  two  first-class  frigates,  and  five 
second-class.  " 


54  NINETY-THREE. 

"  But  I,  too,  "  growled  Gacquoil,  "  have  marked  them 
out." 

"  Good  vessels,  "  said  the  captain.  "  I  have  done  some- 
thing myself  toward  commanding  them.  " 

"  As  for  me,  "  said  Gacquoil,  "  I  have  seen  them  close 
by.  I  do  not  mistake  one  for  the  other.  I  have  their 
description  in  my  head.  " 

The  captain  handed  his  telescope  to  the  pilot. 

"  Pilot,  can  you  make  out  the  three-decker  clearly  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Captain  ;  it  is  the  '  Côte  d'Or.  '  " 

"  Which  they  have  rebaptized,  "  said  the  captain. 
"  She  was  formerly  the  '  États  de  Bourgogne.  '  A  new 
vessel  ;  a  hundred  and  twenty-eight  guns.  " 

He  took  a  pencil  and  note-book  from  his  pocket,  and 
made  the  figure  128  on  one  of  the  leaves. 

He  continued,  — 

"  Pilot,  what  is  the  first  sail  to  larboard  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  '  Expérimentée/     The  —  * 

"  First-class  frigate.  Fifty-two  guns.  She  was  fitted 
out  at  Brest  two  months  since.  " 

The  captain  marked  the  figure  52  on  his  note-book. 

"  Pilot,  "  he  asked,  "  what  is  the  second  sail  to 
larboard  ?  " 

"  The  '  Dryade.  *  " 

"  First-class  frigate.  Forty  eighteen-pounders.  She 
has  been  in  India.      She  has  a  good  naval  reputation.  " 

And  beneath  the  52  he  put  the  figure  40  ;  then  lifting 
his  head:  — 

"  Now,  to  starboard.  " 

"  Commander,  those  are  all  second-class  frigates. 
There  are  five  of  them.  " 

"  Which  is  the  first,  starting  from  the  three-decker  ?  " 

"  The  '  Eésolute.  '  " 

*  Thirty-two  pieces  of  eighteen.     And  the  second  ?  " 

*  The  f  Eichemont.  '  " 


9  s=  380.  66 

"  Same.     The  next  ?  8 

"  The  '  Athéiste.  '  "  1 

"  Odd  name  to  take  to  sea.     What  next  ?  " 

"«The  '  Calypso. ''  ■ 

*  And  then  ?  " 

"  '  La  Preneuse.  '  " 

"  Five  frigates,  each  of  thirty-two  guns.  " 

The  captain  wrote  160  below  the  first  figures. 

"  Pilot,  "  said  he,  "  you  recognize  them  perfectly.  n 

*  And  you,  "  replied  Gacquoil  — -  "  you  know  them  well, 
Captain.     To  recognize  is  something  ;  to  know  is  better.  " 

The  captain  had  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  note-book,  and 
added  between  his  teeth  :  — 

"  One  hundred  and  twenty-eight,  fifty-two,  forty,  a 
hundred  and  sixty.  " 

At  this  moment  La  Vieuville  came  on  deck  again. 

"  Chevalier,  "  the  captain  cried  out  to  him,  "  we  are  in 
sight  of  three  hundred  and  eighty  cannon.  " 

"  So  be  it,  "  said  La  Vieuville. 

*  You  come  from  the  inspection,  La  Vieuville  :  how 
many  guns,  exactly,  have  we  fit  for  firing  ?  " 

u  "JsTine.  " 

"  So  be  it,  "  said  Boisberthelot,  in  his  turn. 

He  took  the  telescope  from  the  pilot's  hands  and 
studied  the  horizon. 

The  eight  vessels,  silent  and  black,  seemed  motion- 
less, but  they  grew  larger. 

They  were  approaching  imperceptibly. 

La  Vieuville  made  a  military  salute. 

"  Commander,  "  said  he,  "  this  is  my  report.  I  dis- 
trusted this  corvette  '  Claymore.  '  It  is  always  annoy- 
ing to  embark  suddenly  on  a  vessel  that  does  not  know 
you  or  that  does  not  love  you.  English  ship  —  traitor 
to  Frenchman.      That  slut  of  a  carronade  proved  it     I 

1  Marine  Archives  :  State  of  the  Fleet  in  1793. 


56  NINETY-THREE. 

have  made  the  round.  Anchors  good.  They  are  not 
made  of  half-finished  iron,  but  forged  bars  soldered 
under  the  tilt-hammer.  The  flukes  are  solid.  Cables 
excellent,  easy  to  pay  out;  regulation  length,  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  fathoms.  Munitions  in  plenty.  Six 
gunners  dead.  A  hundred  and  seventy-one  rounds 
apiece.  " 

"  Because  there  are  but  nine  pieces  left,  "  murmured 
the  captain. 

Boisberthelot  levelled  his  telescope  with  the  horizon. 
The  squadron  was  still  slowly  approaching. 

The  carronades  possess  one  advantage, —  three  men  are 
enough  to  work  them  ;  but  they  have  one  inconvenience, 
—  they  do  not  carry  so  far  nor  aim  so  true  as  guns.  It 
would  be  necessary  to  let  the  squadron  get  within  range 
of  the  carronades. 

The  captain  gave  his  orders  in  a  low  voice.  There 
was  silence  throughout  the  vessel.  No  signal  to  clear 
for  battle  had  been  given,  but  it  was  done.  The  cor- 
vette was  as  much  disabled  for  combat  with  men  as 
against  the  waves.  Everything  that  was  possible  was 
done  with  this  ruin  of  a  war-vessel.  By  the  gangway 
near  the  tiller-ropes  were  heaped  all  the  hawsers  and 
spare  cables  for  strengthening  the  masts  in  case  of  need. 
The  cockpit  was  put  in  order  for  the  wounded.  Accord- 
ing to  the  naval  use  of  that  time,  the  deck  was  barri- 
caded, which  is  a  guaranty  against  balls  but  not  against 
bullets.  The  bail-gauges  were  brought,  although  it  was 
a  little  late,  to  verify  the  calibres;  but  so  many  in- 
cidents had  not  been  foreseen.  Each  sailor  received  a 
cartridge-box,  and  stuck  into  his  belt  a  pair  of  pistols 
and  a  dirk.  The  hammocks  were  stowed  away,  the 
artillery  pointed,  the  musketry  prepared,  the  axes  and 
grapplings  laid  out,  the  cartridge  and  bullet  stores  made 
ready,  and  the  powder-room  opened.     Every  man  was 


9  =  m).  57 

at  his  post.  All  was  done  without  a  word  being  spoken, 
like  arrangements  carried  on  in  the  chamber  of  a  dying 
person.      All  was  haste  and  gloom. 

Then  the  corvette  showed  her  broadside.  She  had  six 
anchors,  like  a  frigate.  The  whole  six  were  cast,  —  the 
cockbill  anchor  forward,  the  kedger  aft,  the  flood-anchor 
toward  the  open,  the  ebb-anchor  on  the  side  to  the  rocks, 
the  bower-anchor  to  starboard,  and  the  sheet-anchor  to 
larboard. 

The  nine  carronades  still  in  condition  were  put  into 
form:  the  whole  nine  on  one  side, — that  toward  the 
enemy.  I 

The  squadron  had  on  its  part  not  less  silently  com- 
pleted its  manoeuvres.  The  eight  vessels  now  formed 
a  semicircle,  of  which  the  Minquiers  made  the  chord. 
The  "  Claymore,  "  enclosed  in  this  semicircle,  and  into 
the  bargain  tied  down  by  her  anchors,  was  backed 
by  the  reef,  — that  is  to  say,  by  shipwreck. 

It  was  like  a  pack  of  hounds  about  a  wild  boar,  not 
yet  giving  tongue,  but  showing  their  teeth. 

It  seemed  as  if  on  the  one  side  and  the  other  they 
awaited  some  signal. 

The  gunners  of  the  "  Claymore  "  stood  to  their  pieces. 

Boisberthelot  said  to  La  Vieuville  :  — ■ 

*  I  should  like  to  open  fire.  " 

8  A  coquette's  whim,  "  replied  La  Vieuville. 


1 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

SOME   ONE  ESCAPES. 

^TPHE  passenger  had  not  quitted  the  deck  ;  he  watched 
-*-  all  the  proceedings  with  the  same  impassible 
mien. 

Boisberthelot  approached. 

"  Sir,  "  he  said  to  him,  "  the  preparations  are  complete. 
We  are  now  lashed  fast  to  our  tomb  ;  we  shall  not  let 
go  our  hold.  We  are  the  prisoners  of  either  the  squad- 
ron or  the  reef.  To  yield  to  the  enemy,  or  founder 
among  the  rocks  :  we  have  no  other  choice.  One  re- 
source remains  to  us, —  to  die.  It  is  better  to  fight  than 
be  wrecked.  I  would  rather  be  shot  than  drowned  ;  in 
the  matter  of  death,  I  prefer  fire  to  water.  But  dying 
is  the  business  of  the  rest  of  us  ;  it  is  not  yours.  You 
are  the  man  chosen  by  the  princes  ;  you  are  appointed 
to  a  great  mission, —  the  direction  of  the  war  in  Vendee. 
Yoi>  i  loss  is  perhaps  the  monarchy  lost  ;  therefore  you 
must  live.  Our  honour  bids  us  remain  here  ;  yours  bids 
you  go.  General,  you  must  quit  the  ship.  I  am  going 
to  give  you  a  man  and  a  boat.  To  reach  the  coast  by  a 
detour  is  not  impossible.  It  is  not  yet  day  ;  the  waves 
are  high,  the  sea  is  dark;  you  will  escape.  There  are 
cases  when  to  fly  is  to  conquer.  " 

The  old  man  bowed  his  stately  head  in  sign  of 
acquiescence. 

Count  du  Boisberthelot  raised  his  voice  :•— 

"  Soldiers  and  sailors  !  "  he  cried. 


SOME   ONE   ESCAPES.  59 

Every  movement  ceased  ;  from  each  point  of  the  ves- 
sel all  faces  turned  toward  the  captain. 
He  continued  :  — 
"  This  man  who  is  among  us  represents  the  king.     He 

has  been  confided  to  us  ;   we  must   save  him.     He  is 

i  j 

necessary  to  the  throne  of  France  ;  in  default  of  a  prince 
he  will  be, —  at  least  this  is  what  we  try  for  —  the 
leader  in  the  Vendée.  He  is  a  great  general.  He  was 
to  have  landed  in  France  with  us  ;  he  must  land  with- 
out us.     To  save  the  head  is  to  save  all.  " 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  yes  !  "  cried  the  voices  of  the  whole  crew. 

The  captain  continued  :  — 

"  He  is  about  to  risk,  he  also,  serious  danger.  It  will 
not  be  easy  to  reach  the  coast.  In  order  to  face  the 
angry  sea  the  boat  should  be  large,  and  should  be  small 
in  order  to  escape  the  cruisers.  What  must  be  done  is 
to  make  land  at  some  safe  point,  and  better  toward 
Fougères  than  in  the  direction  of  Coutances.  It  needs 
an  athletic  sailor,  a  good  oarsman  and  swimmer,  who 
belongs  to  this  coast,  and  knows  the  Channel.  There 
is  night  enough,  so  that  the  boat  can  leave  the  corvette 
without  being  perceived.  And  besides,  we  are  going 
to  have  smoke,  which  will  serve  to  hide  her.  The 
boat's  size  will  help  her  through  the  shallows.  Where 
the  panther  is  snared,  the  weasel  escapes.  There  is 
no  outlet  for  us  ;  there  is  for  her.  The  boat  will  row 
rapidly  offN;  the  enemy's  ships  will  not  see  her:  and 
moreover,  during  that  time  we  are  going  to  amuse  them 
ourselves.      Is  it  decided  ?  " 

*  Yes  !  yes  !  yes  !  "  cried  the  crew. 

"  There  is  not  an  instant  to  lose,  "  pursued  the  captain. 
"  Is  there  any  man  willing  ?  " 

A  sailor  stepped  out  of  the  ranks  in  the  darkness,  and 
said,  "  L  " 


CHAPTEE   Xo 

DOES    HE   ESCAPE? 

A  FEW  minutes  later,  one  of  those  little  boats  called 
a  "  gig,  "  which  are  especially  appropriated  to  the 
captain's  service,  pushed  off  from  the  vessel.  There 
were  two  men  in  this  boat,  —  the  old  man  in  the  stern, 
and  the  sailor  who  had  volunteered  in  the  bow.  The 
night  still  lingered.  The  sailor,  in  obedience  to  the 
captain's  orders,  rowed  vigorously  in  the  direction  of 
the  Minquiers.  For  that  matter,  no  other  issue  was  pos 
sible.  Some  provisions  had  been  put  into  the  boat,  —  a 
bag  of  biscuit,  a  smoked  ox-tongue,  and  a  cask  of  water. 

At  the  instant  the  gig  was  let  down,  La  Vieuville,  a 
scoffer  even  in  the  presence  of  destruction,  leaned  over 
the  corvette's  stern-post,  and  sneered  this  farewell  to 
the  boat  :  — 

"  She  is  a  good  one  if  one  want  to  escape,  and  excel- 
lent if  one  wish  to  drown.  " 

"  Sir,  "  said  the  pilot,  "  let  us  laugh  no  longer.  " 

The  start  was  quickly  made,  and  there  was  soon  a 
considerable  distance  between  the  boat  and  the  cor- 
vette. The  wind  and  the  waves  were  in  the  oarsman's 
favour;  the  little  bark  fled  swiftly,  undulating  through 
the  twilight,  and  hidden  by  the  height  of  the  waves. 

The  sea  seemed  to  wear  a  look  of  sombre,  indescriba- 
ble expectation. 

Suddenly,  amid  the  vast  and  tumultuous  silence  of 
the  ocean,  rose  a  voice,  which,  increased  by  the  speak- 
ing-trumpet as  if  by  the  brazen  mask  of  antique  tragedy, 
sounded  almost  superhuman. 


DOES   HE   ESCAPE?  61 

t 

It  was  the  voice  of  Captain  Boisberthelot  giving  his 
commands  :  "  Eoyal  marines,  "  cried  he,  "  nail  the  white 
flag  to  the  mam -mast.  We  are  about  to  see  our  last 
sunrise.  " 

And  the  corvette  fired  its  first  shot. 

"  Long  live  the  king  !  "  shouted  the  crew. 

Then  from  the  horizon's  verge  echoed  an  answering 
shout,  immense,  distant,  confused,  yet  'distinct  nevei\ 
theless  :  — 

"  Long  live  the  Eepublic  !  " 

And  a  din  like  the  peal  of  three  hundred  thunderbolts 
burst  over  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

The  battle  began. 

The  sea  was  covered  with  smoke  and  fire.  Streams 
of  foam,  made  by  the  tailing  bullets,  whitened  the 
waves  on  every  side. 

The  "  Claymore  "  began  to  spit  flame  on  the  eight 
vessels.  At  the  same  time  the  whole  squadron,  ranged 
in  a  half -moon  about  the  corvette,  opened  fire  from  all 
its  batteries.  The  horizon  was  in  a  blaze.  A  volcano 
seemed  to  have  burst  suddenly  out  of  the  sea.  Tne 
wind  twisted  to  and  fro  the  vast  crimson  banner  of 
battle,  amid  which  the  ships  appeared  and  disappeared 
like  phantoms. 

In  front1  the  black  skeleton  of  the  corvette  showed 
against  the  red  background. 

The  white  banner,  with  its  fleur-de-lis,  could  be  seen 
floating  from  the  main. 

The  two  men  seated  in  the  little  boat  kept  silence. 
The  triangular  shallows  of  the  Minquiers,  a  sort  of  sub- 
marine Trinacrium,  is  larger  than  the  entire  island  of 
Jersey.  The  sea  covers  it.  It  has  for  culminating  point 
a  platform  which  even  the  highest  tides  do  not  reach, 
from  whence  six  mighty  rocks  detach  themselves  toward 
the  northeast,  ranged  iD  a  straight  line,  and  producing 


62  NINETY-THREE. 

the  effect  of  a  great  wall,  which  has  crumbled  here  and 
there.  The  strait  between  the  plateau  and  the  six  reefs 
is  only  practicable  to  boats  drawing  very  little  water. 
Beyond  this  strait  is  the  open  sea. 

The  sailor  who  had  undertaken  the  command  of  the 
boat  made  for  this  strait.  By  that  means  he  put  the 
Minquiers  between  the  battle  and  the  little  bark.  He 
manoeuvred  thé  narrow  channel  skilfully,  avoiding  the 
reefs  to  larboard  and  starboard.  The  rocks  now  masked 
the  conflict.  The  lurid  light  of  the  horizon,  and  the 
awful  uproar  of  the  cannonading,  began  to  lessen  as  the 
distance  increased;  but  the  continuance  of  the  reports 
proved  that  the  corvette  held  firm,  and  meant  to  ex- 
haust to  the  very  last  her  one  hundred  and  seventy-one 
broadsides.  Presently  the  boat  reached  safe  water,  be- 
yond the  reef,  beyond  the  battle,  out  of  reach  of  the 
bullets. 

Little  by  little  the  face  of  the  sea  became  less  dark  ; 
the  rays,  against  which  the  darkness  struggled,  widened  ; 
the  foam  burst  into  jets  of  light,  and  the  tops  of  the 
waves  gave  back  white  reflections. 

Day  appeared. 

The  boat  was  out  of  danger  so  far  as  the  enemy  was 
concerned,  but  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  task  re- 
mained. She  was  saved  from  grape-shot,  but  not  from 
shipwreck.  She  was  a  mere  egg-shell,  in  a  high  sea, 
without  deck,  without  sail,  without  mast,  without  com- 
pass, having  no  resource  but  her  oars,  in  the  presence  of 
the  ocean  and  the  hurricane,  —  an  atom  at  the  mercy  of 
giants. 

Then,  amid  this  immensity,  this  solitude,  lifting  his 
face,  whitened  by  the  morning,  the  man  in  the  bow  of 
the  boat  looked  fixedly  at  the  one  in  the  stern,  and  said  : 

"  I  am  the  brother  of  him  you  ordered  to  be  shot  " 


BOOK    III. 

HALMALO. 


CHAPTEE   I. 

SPEECH   IS   THE    "  WOKD.  " 

THE  old  man  slowly  raised  his  head.  He  who  had 
spoken  was  a  man  of  about  thirty.  His  forehead 
was  brown  with  sea- tan  ;  his  eyes  were  peculiar  :  they 
had  the  keen  glance  of  a  sailor  in  the  open  pupils  of  a 
peasant.  He  held  the  oars  vigorously  in  his  two  hands. 
His  air  was  mild. 

In  his  belt  were  a  dirk,  two  pistols,  and  a  rosary. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  I  have  just  told  you.  " 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

The  sailor  shipped  the  oars,  folded  his  arms,  and 
replied,  — 

"  To  kill  you.  " 

"  As  you  please,  "  said  the  old  man. 

The  other  raised  his  voice  :  — 

"  Get  ready  !  " 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  To  die.  " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

There  was  a  silence.  The  sailor  seemed  for  an  instant 
confused  by  the  question.      He  repeated  :  — 

"  I  say  that  I  mean  to  kill  you.  " 


64  NINETY-THREE. 

"  And  I  ask  you,  what  for  ?  " 

The  sailor's  eyes  Hashed  lightning:  — 

M  Because  you  killed  my  brother.  " 

The  old  man  replied  with  perfect  calmness  :  — 

"  I  began  by  saving  his  life.  " 

"  That  is  -true.  You  saved  him  first,  then  you  killed 
him.  " 

"  It  was  not  I  who  killed  him.  " 

"  Who,  then  ?  " 

"  His  own  fault.  " 

The  sailor  stared  open-mouthed  at  the  old  man  ;  then 
his  eyebrows  met  again  in  their  murderous  frown. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Halmalo  ;  but  you  do  not  need  to  know  my  name  in 
order  to  be  killed  by  me.  " 

At  this  moment  the  sun  rose.  A  ray  struck  full  upon 
the  sailor's  face,  and  vividly  lighted  up  that  savage  coun- 
tenance.     The  old  man  studied  it  attentively.    ' 

The  cannonading,  though  it  still  continued,  was 
broken  and  irregular.  A  vast  cloud  of  smoke  weighed 
down  the  horizon.  The  boat,  no  longer  directed  by  the 
oarsman,  drifted  to  leeward. 

The  sailor  seized  in  his  right  hand  one  of  the  pistols 
at  his  belt,   and  the  rosary  in  his  left. 

The  old  man  raised  himself  to  his  full  height. 

"  You  believe  in  God  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven,  "  replied  the  sailor  ; 
and  he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Have  you  a  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

He  made  a  second  sign  of  the  cross.     Then  he  resumed  : 

"  It  is  all  said.  I  give  you  a  minute,  my  lord.  "  And 
he  cocked  the  pistol. 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  '  my  lord  '  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  a  lord.  That  is  plain  enough  to  be 
seen.  " 


"The  old  man  raised  himself  to  his  full  height.' 


SPEECH   IS  THE   "WORD."  65 

"  Have  you  a  lord  —  you  ?  " 

u  Yes,  and  a  grand  one.  Does  one  live  without  a 
lord?" 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  , 

"  I  don't  know.  He  has  left  this  country.  He  is 
called  ,the  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  Viscount  de  Fontenay, 
Prince  in  Brittany  ;  he  is  the  lord  of  the  Seven  Forests. 
I  never  saw  him,  but  that  does  not  prevent  his  being 
my  master.  " 

"  And  if  you  were  to  see  him,  would  you  obey  him  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes.  Why,  I  should  be  a  heathen  if  ^1  did 
not  obey  him.  I  owe  obedience  to  God;  then  to  the 
king,  who  is  like  God  ;  and  then  to  the  lord,  who  is  like 
the  king.  But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  all  that. 
You  killed  my  brother  ;  I  must  kill  you.  " 

The  old  man  replied,  — 

"  Agreed  ;  I  killed  your  brother.      Ï  did  well.  " 

The  sailor  clinched  the  pistol  more  tightly. 

"  Come,  "  said  he. 

"  So  be  it,  "  said  the  old  man.  Still  perfectly  com- 
posed, he  added,  "  Where  is  the  priest  ?  " 

The  sailor  stared  at  him. 

"  The  priest  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  priest.  I  gave  your  brother  a  priest  ; 
you  owe  me  one.  " 

"  I  have  none,  "  said  the  sailor.  And  he  continued, 
"  Are  priests  to  be  found  out  at  sea  ?  " 

The  convulsive  thunderings  of  battle  sounded  more 
and  more  distant. 

"  Those  who  are  dying  yonder  have  theirs,  "  said  the 
old  man. 

"  That  is  true,  "  murmured  the  sailor  ;  "  they  have  the 
chaplain.  " 

The  old  man  continued  :  "  You  will  lose  me  my  soul  ; 
that  is  a  serious  matter. 5> 


$6  NINETY-THREE.     . 

The  sailor  bent  his  head  in  thought. 

"  And  in  losing  me  my  soul,  "  pursued  the  old  man, 
"  you  lose  your  own.  Listen.  I  have  pity  on  you. 
Do  what  you  choose.  As  for  me,  I  did  my  duty  a  little 
while  ago, — first,  in  saving  your  brother's  life,  and 
afterward  in  taking  it  from  him  ;  and  I  am  doing  my 
duty  now  in  trying  to  save  your  soul.  Reflect  It  is 
your  affair.  Do  you  hear  the  cannon-shots  at  this  in- 
stant ?  There  are  men  perishing  yonder,  there  are  des- 
perate creatures  dying,  there  are  husbands  who  will 
never  again  see  their  wives,  fathers  who  will  never 
again  see  their  children,  brothers  who,  like  you,  will 
never  again  see  their  brothers.  And  by  whose  fault? 
Your  brother's  —  yours  !  You  believe  in  God,  do  you  not  ? 
Well,  you  know  that  God  suffers  in  this  moment;  he 
suffers  in  the  person  of  his  Most  Christian  Son  the  King 
of  France,  who  is  a  child  as  Jesus  was,  and  who  is  a  pris- 
oner in  the  fortress  of  the  Temple.  God  suffers  in  his 
Church  of  Brittany;  he  suffers  in  his  insulted  cathe- 
drals, his  desecrated  Gospels,  in  his  violated  houses 
of  prayer,  in  his  murdered  priests.  What  did  we  in- 
tend to  do,  we,  with  that  vessel  which  is  perishing  at 
this  instant?  We  were  going  to  succour  God's  children. 
If  your  brother  had  been  a  good  servant,  if  he  had  faith- 
fully done  his  duty  like  a  wise  and  prudent  man,  the 
accident  of  the  carronade  would  not  have  occurred,  the 
corvette  would  not  have  been  disabled,  she  would  not 
have  got  out  of  her  course,  she  would  not  have  fallen  in 
with  this  fleet  of  perdition,  and  at  this  hour  we  should 
be  landing  in  France,  —  all,  like  valiant  soldiers  and 
seamen  as  we  were,  sabre  in  hand,  the  white  flag  un- 
furled, numerous,  glad,  joyful;  and  we  should  have 
gone  to  help  the  brave  Vendean  peasants  to  save  France, 
to  save  the  king;  we  should  have  been  doing  God's 
work.     This  was  what  we  meant  to  do  ;  this  was  what 


SPEECH  IS  THE  "WORD."  67 

I 

we  should  have  done.  It  is  what  I  —  the  only  one  who 
remains  — ■  set  out  to  do.  But  you  oppose  yourself 
thereto.  In  this  contest  of  the  impious  against  the 
priests,  in  this  strife  of  the  regicides  against  the  king, 
in  this  struggle  of  Satan  against  God,  you  are  on  the 
devil's  side.  Your  brother  was  the  demon's  first  auxil- 
iary ;  you  are  the  second.  He  commenced  ;  you  finish. 
You  are  with  the  regicides  against  the  throne  ;  you  are 
with  die  impious  against  the  Church.  You  take  away 
from  God  his  last  resource.  Because  I  shall  not  be  there, 
—  I,  who  represent  the  king,  —  the  hamlets  will  continue 
to  burn,  families  to  weep,  priests  to  bleed,  Brittany  to 
suffer,  the  king  to  remain  in  prison,  and  Jesus  Christ  to 
be  in  distress.  And  who  will  have  caused  this  ?  You  ! 
Go  on;  it  is  your \ affair.  I  depended  on  you  to  he]p 
bring  about  just  the  contrary  of  all  this.  I  deceived 
myself.  Ah,  yes  !  it  is  true,  —  you  are  right  :  I  killed 
your  brother.  Your  brother  was  courageous  ;  I  recom- 
pensed that.  He  was  culpable  ;  I  punished  that.  He 
had  failed  in  his  duty  ;  I  did  not  fail  in  mine.  What 
I  did,  I  would  do  again.  And  I  swear  by  the  great 
Saint  Anne,  of  Auray,  who  sees  us,  that  in  a  similar 
case  I  would  shoot  my  son  just  as  I  shot  your  brother. 
Now  you  are  master.  Yes,  I  pity  you.  You  have  lied 
to  your  captain.  You,  Christian,  are  without  faith  ; 
you,  Breton,  are  without  honour.  I  was  confided  to 
your  loyalty  and  accepted  by  your  treason  ;  you  offer  my 
death  to  those  to  whom  you  had  promised  my  life.  Do 
you  know  who  it  is  you  are  destroying  here  ?  It  is 
yourself.  You  take  my  life  from  the  king,  and  you 
give  your  eternity  to  the  devil.  Go  on  ;  commit  your 
crime,—  it  is  well.  You  sell  cheaply  your  share  in  Para- 
dise. Thanks  to  you,  the  devil  will  conquer;  thanks 
to  you,  the  churches  will  fall  ;  thanks  to  you,  the 
heathen  will  continue  to  melt  the  bells  and  make  can- 


68  NINETY-THREE. 

non  of  them.  They  will  shoot  men  with  that  which 
used  to  warn  souls  !  At  this  moment  in  which  I  speak 
to  you,  perhaps  the  bell  that  rang  for  your  baptism  is 
killing  your  mother.  Go  on  ;  aid  the  devil,  —  do  not 
hesitate.  Yes,  I  condemned  your  brother;  but  know 
this  :  I  am  an  instrument  of  God.  Ah,  you  pretend  to 
judge  the  means  God  uses  !  Will  you  take  it  on  your- 
self to  judge  Heaven's  thunderbolt?  Wretched  man, 
you  will  be  judged  by  it  !  Take  care  what  you  do.  Do 
you  even  know  whether  I  am  in  a  state  of  grace  ?  No. 
Go  on,  all  the  same.  Do  what  you  like.  You  are  free 
to  cast  me  into  hell,  and  to  cast  yourself  there  with  me. 
Our  two  damnations  are  in  your  hand.  It  is  you  who 
will  be  responsible  before  God.  We  are  alone  ;  face  to 
face  in  the  abyss.  Go  on  —  finish  —  make  an  end.  I  am 
old  and  you  are  young;  I  am  without  arms  and  you 
are  armed  ;   kill  me  !  " 

While  the  old  man  stood  erect,  uttering  these  words 
in  a  voice  louder  than  the  noise  of  the  sea,  the  undula- 
tions of  the  waves  showed  him  now  in  the  shadow,  now 
in  the  light.  The  sailor  had  grown  lividly  white  ;  great 
drops  of  sweat  fell  from  his  forehead  ;  he  trembled  like 
a  leaf  ;  he  kissed  his  rosary  again  and  again.  When  the 
old  man  finished  speaking,  he  threw  down  his  pistol 
and  fell  on  his  knees. 

"  Mercy,  my  lord  !  Pardon  me  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  you 
speak  like  God.  I  have  done  wrong.  My  brother  did 
wrong.  I  will  try  to  repair  his  crime.  Dispose  of  met 
Command  ;  I  will  obey.  " 

"  I  give  you  pardon,  "  said  the  old  man. 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE    PEASANT'S   MEMORY   IS   AS    GOOD    AS   THE 
CAPTAIN'S    SCIENCE. 

THE  provisions  which  had  been  put  into  the  boat 
proved  most  acceptable.  The  two  fugitives, 
obliged  to  make  long  detours,  took  thirty-six  hours  to 
reach  the  coast.  They  passed  a  night  at  sea;  but  the 
night  was  fine,  though  there  was  too  much  moon  to  be 
favourable  to  those  seeking  concealment. 

They  were  obliged  firsjt  to  row  away  from  France,  and 
gain  the  open  sea  toward  Jersey. 

They  heard  the  last  broadside  of  the  sinking  corvette 
as  one  hears  the  final  roar  of  the  lion  whom  the  hunters 
are  killing  in  the  wood.     Then  a  silence  fell  upon  the  sea. 

The  '"'  Claymore  "  died  like  the  a  Avenger,  "  but  glory 
has  ignored  her.  The  man  who  fights  against  his  own 
country  is  never  a  hero. 

Halmalo  was  a  marvellous  seaman.  He  performed 
miracles  of  dexterity  and  intelligence  ;  his  improvisa- 
tion of  a  route  amid  the  reefs,  the  waves,  and  the 
enemy's  watch  was  a  masterpiece.  The  wind  had 
slackened  and  the  sea  grown  calmer.  Halmalo  avoided 
the  Caux  des  Minquiers,  coasted  the  Chaussée-aux-Bœufs. 
and  in  order  that  they  might  have  a  few  hours'  rest, 
took  shelter  in  the  little  creek  on  the  north  side,  practi- 
cable at  low  water;  then,  rowing  southward  again, 
found  means  to  pass  between  Granville  and  the  Chausey 
Islands  without  being  discovered  by  the  look-out  either 
of  Granville  or  Chausey.      He  entered  the  bay  of  Saint- 


70  NINETY-THREE. 

Michael, —  a  bold  undertaking,  on  account  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Cancale,  an  anchorage  for  the  cruising 
squadron. 

About  an  hour  before  sunset  on  the  evening  of  the 
second  day,  he  left  Saint  Michael's  Mount  behind  him, 
and  proceeded  to  land  on  a  beach  deserted  because  the 
shifting  sands  made  it  dangerous. 

Fortunately  the  tide  was  high. 

Halmalo  drove  the  boat  as  far  up  as  he  could,  tried 
the  sand,  found  it  firm,  ran  the  bark  aground,  and  sprang 
on  shore.  The  old  man  strode  over  the  side  after  him 
and  examined  the  horizon. 

"  Monseigneur,  "  said  Halmalo,  "  we  are  here  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Couesnon.  There  is  Beauvoir  to  starboard, 
and  Huisnes  to  larboard.  The  belfry  in  front  of  us  is 
Ardevon.  " 

The  old  man  bent  down  to  the  boat  and  took  a  bis- 
cuit, which  he  put  in  his  pocket,  and  said  to  Halmalo  : 

"  Take  the  rest.  " 

Halmalo  put  the  remains  of  the  meat  and  biscuit  into 
the  bag  and  slung  it  over  his  shoulder.  This  done,  he 
said  :  — 

"  Monseigneur,  must  I  conduct  or  follow  you  ?  " 

"  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  " 

Halmalo  regarded  the  speaker  in  stupefied  wonder. 

The  old  man  continued  :  — 

"  Halmalo,  we  must  separate.  It  will  not  answer  to 
be  two.     There  must  be  a  thousand  or  one  alone.  " 

He  paused,  and  drew  from  one  of  his  pockets  a  green 
silk  bow,  rather  like  a  cockade,  with  a  gold  fleur-de-lis 
embroidered  in  the  centre.     He  resumed  :  — 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  read  ?  " 

8  No.  " 

"  That  is  fortunate.  A  man  who  can  read  is  trouble- 
some.    Have  you  a  good  memory  ?  " 


MEMORY  IS  AS  GOOD  AS  SCIENCE.  71 

'  Yes.  n 

"  That  will  do.  Listen,  Halmalo.  You  must  take  to 
the  right  and  I  to  the  left.  I  shall  go  in  the  direction 
of  Fougères,  you  toward  Bazouges.  Keep  your  bag  ;  it 
gives  you  the  look  of  a  peasant.  Conceal  your  weapons. 
Cut  yourself  a  stick  in  the  thickets.  Creep  among  the 
fields  of  rye,  which  are  high.  Slide  behind  the  hedges. 
Climb  the  fences  in  order  to  go  across  the  meadows. 
Leave  passers-by  at  a  distance.  Avoid  the  roads  and 
the  bridges.  Do  not  enter  Pontorson.  Ah  !  you  will 
have  to  cross  the  Couesnon.     How  will  you  manage  ?  " 

8  I  shall  swim.  " 

"  That 's  right.  And  there  is  a  ford  —  do  you  know 
where  it  is  ?  " 

"  Between  Ancey  and  Vieux-Viel.  " 

"  That  is  right.     You  do  really  belong  to  the  country.  " 

"  But  night  is  coming  on.  Where  will  Monseigneur 
sleep  ?  " 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  And  you  —  where  will 
you  sleep  ?  " 

"  There  are  hollow  trees.  I  was  a  peasant  before  I 
was  a  sailor.  " 

"Throw  away  your  sailor's  hat;  it  will  betray  you. 
You  will  easily  find  a  woollen  cap.  " 

"  Oh,  a  peasant's  thatch  is  to  be  found  anywhere. 
The  first  fisherman  will  sell  me  his.  " 

"  Very  good.      Now  listen.      You  know  the  woods  ?  " 

"  All  of  them.  " 

"  Of  the  whole  district  ?  " 

:i  From  Noirmoutier  to  Laval.  " 

:i  Do  you  know  their  names  too  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  woods  ;  I  know  their  names  ;  I  know 
about  everything.  " 

"  You  will  forget  nothing  ?  " 

a  Nothing.  w 


72  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Good  !  At  present,  attention.  How  many  leagues 
can  you  make  in  a  day  ?  " 

"  Ten,  fifteen  —  twenty,  if  necessary.  " 

"  It  will  be.  Do  not  lose  a  word  of  what  I  am  about 
to  say.      You  will  go  to  the  wood  of  Samt-Aubin.  " 

"  Near  Lamballe  ?  " 

"  Yes.  On  the  edge  of  the  ravine  between  Saint- 
Reuil  and  Plédiac  there  is  a  large  chestnut-tree.  You 
will  stop  there.      You  will  see  no  one.  " 

"  Which  will  not  hinder  somebody's  being  there.  I 
know.  " 

"  You  will  give  the  call.  Do  you  know  how  to 
give  the  call?" 

Halmalo  puffed  out  his  cheeks,  turned  toward  the  sea, 
and  there  sounded  the  "  to-whit,  to-hoo  "  of  an  owl. 

One  would  have  said  it  came  from  the  night-locked 
recesses  of  a  forest.      It  was  sinister  and  owl-like. 

"  Good  !"  said  the  old  man.      "  You  have  it.  " 

He  held  out  the  bow  of  green  silk  to  Halmalo. 

"  This  is  my  badge  of  command.  Take  it.  It  is  im- 
portant that  no  one  should  as  yet  know  my  name  ;  but 
this  knot  will  be  sufficient.  The  fleur-de-lis  was  em- 
broidered by  Madame  Royale -in  the  Temple  prison.  " 

Halmalo  bent  one  knee  to  the  ground.  He  trembled 
as  he  took  the  flower-embroidered  knot,  and  brought  it 
near  to  his  lips,  then  paused,  as  if  frightened  at  this 
kiss. 

"  Can  I  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  since  you  kiss  the  crucifix.  " 

Halmalo  kissed  the  fleur-de-lis. 

"  Rise,  "  said  the  old  man. 

Halmalo  rose  and  hid  the  knot  in  his  breast. 

The  old  man  continued  :  — 

"  Listen  well  to  this.  This  is  the  order  :  Up  !  Revolt  ! 
No  quarter  !     On  the  edge  of  this  wood  of  Saint-Aubin 


MEMORY  IS   AS   GOOD  AS  SCIENCE.  73 

you  will  give  the  call.  You  will  repeat  it  thrice.  The 
third  time  you  will  see  a  man  spring  out  of  the  ground.  " 

"  Out  of  a  hole  under  the  trees.      I  know.  " 

"  This  man  will  be  Planchenault,  who  is  also  called 
the  King's  Heart.  You  will  show  him  this  knot.  He 
will  understand.  Then,  by  routes  you  must  find  out, 
you  will  go  to  the  wood  of  Astillé  ;  there  you  will  find 
a  cripple,  who  is  surnained  Mousqueton,  and  who  shows 
pity  to  none.  You  will  tell  him  that  I  love  him,  and 
that  he  is  to  set  the  parishes  in  motion.  From  there  you 
will  go  to  the  wood  of  Couesbon,  which  is  a  league  from 
Ploërmel.  You  will  give  the  owl-cry  ;  a  man  will  come 
put  of  a  hole.  It  will  be  Thuault,  seneschal  of  Ploërmel, 
who  has  belonged  tè  what  is  called  the  Constituent  As- 
sembly, but  on  the  good  side.  You  will  tell  him  to 
arm  the  castle  of  Couesbon,  which  belongs  to  the  Mar- 
quis de  Guer,  a  refugee.  Eavines,  little  woods,  ground 
uneven, --a  good  place.  Thuault  is  a  clever,  straight- 
forward man.  Thence  you  will  go  to  Saint-Guen-les- 
Toits,  and  you  will  talk  with  Jean  Chouan,  who  is,  in 
my  mind,  the  real  chief.  From  thence  you  will  go  to 
the  wood  of  Vilie-Anglose,  where  you  will  see  Guitter, 
whom  they  call  Saint  Martin  ;  you  will  bid  him  have 
his  eye  on  a  certain  Courmesnil,  who  is  the  son-in-law 
of  old  Goupil  de  Préfeln,  and  who  leads  the  Jacobinery 
of  Argentan.  Kecoilect  all  this.  I  write  nothing,  be- 
cause nothing  should  be  written.  La  Eouarie  made  out 
a  list  ;  it  ruined  all.  Then  you  will  go  to  the  wood  of 
Rougefeu,  where  is  Miélette,  who  leaps  the  ravine  on  a 
long  pole.  " 

"  It  is  called  a  leaping-pole.  " 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  use  it  ?  " 

"Am  I  not  a  Breton  and  a  peasant?  The  ferte  is 
our  friend.  She  widens  our  arms  and  lengthens  our 
-egs.  " 


74  NINETY-THREE. 

"  That  is  to  say,  she  makes  the  enemy  smaller  and 
shortens  the  route.      A  good  machine.  " 

"  Once  on  a  time,  with  my  ferte,  I  held  my  own 
against  three  salt-tax  men  who  had  sabres.  " 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

"  Ten  years  ago.  " 

"  Under  the  king  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course.  " 

"  Then  you  fought  in  the  time  of  the  king  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.  " 

"  Against  whom  ?  " 

"  My  faith,  I  do  not  know  !     I  was  a  salt-smuggler.  " 

"  Very  good.  " 

"  They  called  that  fighting  against  the  excise  officers. 
Were  they  the  same  thing  as  the  king  ?  " 

"  Yes.  No.  But  it  is  not  necessary  that  you  should 
understand.  " 

"  I  beg  Monseigneur's  pardon  for  having  asked  a 
question  of  Monseigneur.  " 

"  Let  us  continue.      Do  you  know  La  Tourgue  ?  " 

"  Do  I  know  La  Tourgue  ?     Why,  I  belong  there.  " 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  since  I  come  from  Parigné.  " 

"  In  fact,  La  Tourgue  is  near  Parigné.  " 

"  Know  La  Tourgue  !  The  big  round  castle  that  be- 
longs to  my  lord's  family?  There  is  a  great  iron  door 
which  separates  the  new  part  from  the  old  that  a  cannon 
could  not  blow  open.  The  famous  book  about  Saint 
Bartholomew,  which  people  go  to  look  at  from  curiosity, 
is  in  the  new  building.  There  are  frogs  in  the  grass. 
When  I  was  little,  I  used  to  go  and  tease  them.  And 
the  underground  passage,  I  know  that;  perhaps  there 
is  nobody  else  left  who  does.  " 

"  What  underground  passage  ?  I  do  not  know  what 
you  mean.  " 


MEMORY  IS  AS  GOOD  AS  SCIENCE.  75 

"  It  was  made  for  old  times,  in  the  days  when  La 
Tourgue  was  besieged.  The  people  inside  could  escape 
by  going  through  the  underground  passage  which  leads 
into  the  wood.  " 

"  There  is  a  subterranean  passage  of  that  description 
in  the  castle  of  Jupellière,  and  the  castle  of  Hunaud- 
aye,  and  the  tower  of  Cliampéon  ;  but  there  is  nothing 
of  the  sort  at  La  Tourgue.  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  monseigneur  !  I  do  not  know  the 
passages  that  Monseigneur  spoke  of  ;  I  only  know  that 
of  La  Tourgue,  because  I  belong  to  the  neighbourhood. 
Into  the  bargain,  there  is  nobody  but  myself  who  does 
know  it.  It  was  not  talked  about.  It  was  forbidden, 
because  it  had  been  used  in  the  time  of  Monsieur  de 
Eohan's  wars.  My  father  knew  the  secret,  and  showed 
it  to  me.  I  know  how  to  get  in  and  out.  If  I  am  m 
the  forest,  I  can  go  into  the  tower,  and  if  I  am  in  the 
tower,  I  can  go  into  the  forest,  without  anybody's  see- 
ing me.  When  the  enemy  enters,  there  is  no  longer  any 
one  there.  That  is  what  the  passage  of  La  Tourgue  is. 
Oh,  I  know  it  !  " 

The  old  man  remained  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  It  is  evident  that  you  deceive  yourself.  If  there 
were  such  a  secret,  I  should  know  it.  " 

"  Monseigneur,  I  am  certain.  There  is  a  stone  that 
turns.  * 

"  Ah,  good  !  You  peasants  believe  in  stones  that  turn 
and  stones  that  sing,  and  stones  that  go  at  night  to 
drink  from  the  neighbouring  brook.  A  pack  of 
nonsense  !  " 

"  But  since  I  have  made  the  stone  turn  —  " 

"  Just  as  others  have  heard  it  sing.  Comrade,  La 
Tourgue  is  a  fortress,  sure  and  strong,  easy  to  defend; 
but  anybody  who  counted  on  a  subterranean  passage  fox 
getting  out  of  it  would  be  silly  indeed.  " 


76  NINETY-THREE. 

"  But,  monseigneur  —  " 

The  old  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  We  are  losing  time  ;  let  us  talk  of  what  concerns  us.  - 

The  peremptory  tone  cut  short  Halmalo's  persistence. 

The  unknown  resumed  :  — 

"  To  continue.  Listen.  From  Eougefeu  you  will  go 
to  the  wood  of  Montchevrier  ;  Bénédicité  is  there,  the 
chief  of  the  Twelve.  There  is  another  good  fellow.  He 
says  his  Bénédicité  while  he  has  people  shot  War  and 
sensibility  do  not  go  together.  From  Montchevrier, 
you  will  go  —  " 

He  broke  off. 

"  I  forgot  the  money.  " 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  purse  and  a  pocket-book, 
and  put  them  in  Halmalo's  hand. 

"  There  are  thirty  thousand  livres  in  assignats  in  the 
pocket-book  (something  like  three  pounds)  ;  it  is  true 
the  assignats  are  false,  but  the  real  ones  are  just  as 
worthless.  In  the  purse  —  attention  —  there  are  a  hun- 
dred gold  louis.  I  give  you  all  I  have.  I  have  no 
need  of  anything  here.  Besides,  it  is  better  that  no 
money  should  be  found  on  me.  I  resume.  From 
Montchevrier  you  will  go  to  Antrain,  where  you  will 
see  Monsieur  de  Frotté  ;  from  Antrain  to  La  Jupellière, 
where  you  will  see  De  Eochecotte  ;  from  La  Jupellière 
to  Noirieux,  where  you  will  find  the  Abbé  Baudoin. 
Can  you  recollect  all  this  ?  " 

"  Like  my  paternoster.  " 

"  You  will  see  Monsieur  Dubois-Guy  at  Saint-Brice- 
en-Cogles,  Monsieur  de  Turpin  at  Morannes,  which  is  a 
fortified  town,  and  the  Prince  de  Talmont  at  Chateau- 
Gonthier.  " 

"  Shall  I  be  spoken  to  by  a  prince  ?  " 

"  Since  I  speak  to  you.  " 

Halmalo  took  off  his  hat. 


MEMORY  IS  AS   GOOD  AS  SCIENCE.  77 

"  Madame's  fleur-de-lis  will  ensure  you  a  good  recep- 
tion everywhere.  Do  not  forget  that  you  are  going  into 
the  country  of  mountaineers  and  rustics.  Disguise  your- 
self. It  will  be  easy  to  do.  These  republicans  are  so 
stupid  that  you  may  pass  anywhere  with  a  blue  coat,  a 
three-cornered  hat,  and  a  tricoloured  cockade.  There 
are  no  longer  regiments,  there  are  no  longer  uniforms  ; 
the  companies  are  not  numbered  ;  each  man  puts  on  any 
rag  he  pleases.  You  will  go  to  Saint-Mhervé  ;  there 
you  will  see  Gaulier^  called  Great  Peter.  You  will  go 
to  the  cantonment  of  Parné,  where  the  men  blacken 
their  faces.  They  put  gravel  into  their  guns,  and  a 
double  charge  of  powder,  in  order  to  make  more  noise. 
It  is  well  done;  but  tell  them,  above  all,  to  kill  —  kill 
—  kill!  You  will  go  to  the  camp  of  the  Vache  Noire, 
which  is  on  a  height;  to  the  middle  of  the  wood  of  La 
Charnie,  then  to  the  camp  Avoine,  then  to  the  camp 
Yert,  then  to  the  camp  of  the  Fourmis.  You  will  go  to 
the  Grand  Bordaçe,  which  is  also  called  the  Haut  de 
Pré,  and  is  inhabited  by  a  widow  whose  daughter  mar- 
ried Treton,  nicknamed  the  Englishman.  Grand  Bordage 
is  in  the  parish  of  Quelaines.  You  will  visit  Epineux  - 
le-Chevreuil,  Sillé-le-Guillaume,  Parannes,  and  all  the 
men  in  all  of  the  woods.  You  will  make  friends,  and 
you  will  send  them  to  the  borders  of  the  high  and  the 
low  Maine  ;  you  will  see  Jean  Treton  in  the  parish  of 
Vaisges,  Sans  Regret  at  Bignon,  Chambord  at  Bonchamps; 
the  brothers  Corbin  at  Maisoncelles,  and  the  Petit-sans- 
Peur  at  Saint-John-on-Erve.  He  is  the  one  who  is  called 
Bourdoiseau.  All  that  done,  and  the  watch-word  ■ —  Re- 
volt!  No  quarter!  —  given  everywhere,  you  will  join 
the  grand  army,  the  Catholic  and  royal  army,  wherever 
it  may  be.  You  will  see  D'Elbée,  De  Lescure,  De  la 
Roche jacquelein,  all  the  chiefs  who  may  chance  to  be 
still  living.     You  will  show  them  my  token  of  command 


78  NINETY-THREE. 

They  all  know  what  it  means.  You  are  only  a  sailor, 
but  Cathelineau  is  only  a  carter.  This  is  what  you 
must  say  to  them  from  me  :  'It  is  time  to  join  the  two 
wars,  the  great  and  the  little.  The  great  makes  the  most 
noise  ;  the  little  does  the  most  execution.  The  Vendée 
is  good  ;  Chouannerie  is  worse  ;  and  in  civil  war  the 
worst  is  the  best.  The  goodness  of  a  war  is  judged  by 
the  amount  of  bad  it  does.  '  " 

He  paused. 

"  Halmalo,  I  say  all  this  to  you.  You  do  not  under- 
stand the  words,  but  you  comprehend  the  things  them- 
selves. I  gained  confidence  in  you  from  seeing  you 
manage  the  boat.  You  do  not  understand  geometry,  yet 
you  perform  sea-manœuvres  that  are  marvellous.  He 
who  can  manage  a  boat  can  pilot  an  insurrection.  From 
the  way  in  which  you  have  conducted  this  sea  intrigue, 
I  am  certain  you  will  fulfil  all  my  commands  well.  I 
resume.  You  will  tell  the  whole  to  the  chiefs,  in  your 
own  way,  of  course  ;  but  it  will  be  well  told.  I  prefer 
the  war  of  the  forest  to  the  war  of  the  plain  ;  I  have  no 
wish  to  set  a  hundred  thousand  peasants  in  line,  and 
expose  them  to  Carnot's  artillery  and  the  grape-shot  of 
the  Blues.  In  less  than  a  month  I  mean  to  have  five 
hundred  thousand  sharpshooters  ambushed  in  the  woods. 
The  Eepublican  army  is  my  game.  Poaching  is  our 
way  of  waging  war,  Mine  is  the  strategy  of  the  thick- 
ets. Good  ;  there  is  still  another  expression  you  will 
not  catch  ;  no  matter,  you  will  seize  this  :  No  quarter, 
and  ambushes  everywhere.  I  depend  more  on  bush  fight- 
ing than  on  regular  battles.  You  will  add  that  the  Eng- 
lish are  with  us.  We  catch  the  Eepublic  between  two 
fires.  Europe  assists  us.  Let  us  make  an  end  of  the 
Revolution.  Kings  will  wage  a  war  of  kingdoms  against 
it  ;  let  us  wage  a  war  of  parishes.  You  will  say  this. 
Have  you  understood  ?  " 


MEMORY  IS  AS  GOOD  AS  SCIENCE.  79 

u  Yes.     Put  all  to  fire  and  sword.  w 

■  That  is  it.  " 

"  No  quarter.  " 

"  Not  to  a  soul.     That  is  it.  " 

"  I  will  go  everywhere.  " 

"  And  be  careful,  for  in  this  country  it  is  easy  to 
become  a  dead  man.  " 

"  Death  does  not  concern  me.  He  who  takes  his  first 
step  uses  perhaps  his  last  shoes.  " 

"  You  are  a  brave  fellow.  " 

"  And  if  I  am  asked  Monseigneur  's  name  ?  " 

"  It  must  not  be  known  yet.  You  will  say  you  do 
not  know  it,  and  that  will  be  the  truth.  " 

"  Where  shall  I  see  Monseigneur  again  ?  " 

"  "Where  I  shall  be.  " 

"  How  shall  I  know  ?  " 

"  Because  all  the  world  will  know.  I  shall  be  talked 
of  before  eight  days  go  by.  I  shall  make  examples  ;  I 
shall  avenge  religion  and  the  king,  and  you  will  know 
well  that  it  is  I  of  whom  they  speak.  " 

"  I  understand.  " 

"  Forget  nothing.  " 

"  Be  tranquil.  " 

"  Now  go.     May  God  guide  you  !    Go.  " 

"  I  will  do  all  that  you  have  bidden  me.      I  will  go. 
I  will  speak.     I  will  obey.     I  will  command.  " 

"  Good  !  " 

•  And  if  I  succeed  ?  " 

a  I  will  make  you  a  knight  of  Saint  Louis.  " 

"  Like  my  brother.  And  if  I  fail,  you  will  have  me 
shot  ? " 

"  Like  your  brother.  " 

"  Done,  monseigneur.  " 

The  old  man  bent  his  head  and  seemed  to  fall  into  a 
sombre  reverie.     When  he  raised  his  eyes  he  was  alone. 


80  NINETY-THREE. 

Halmalo  was  only  a  black  spot  disappearing  on  the 
horizon. 

The  sun  had  just  set. 

The  sea-mews  and  the  hooded  gulls  flew  homeward 
from  the  darkening  ocean. 

That  sort  of  inquietude  which  precedes  the  night 
made  itself  felt  in  space.  The  green  frogs  croaked  ;  the 
kingfishers  flew  whistling  out  of  the  pools  ;  the  gulls 
and  the  rooks  kept  up  their  evening  tumult  ;  the  cry  of 
the  shore  birds  could  be  heard,  but  not  a  human  sound. 
The  solitude  was  complete.  Not  a  sail  in  the  bay,  not 
a  peasant  in  the  fields.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
stretched  a  deserted  plain.  The  great  sand-thistles 
shivered.  The  white  sky  of  twilight  cast  a  vast  livid 
pallor  over  the  shore.  In  the  distance,  the  pools  scat- 
tered over  the  plain  looked  like  great  sheets  of  pewter 
spread  flat  upon  the  ground.  The  wind  hurried  in  from 
the  sea  with  a  moan. 


BO  OX    IV 

<  TELLMAKCH. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    TOP   OF    THE   DUNK 

THE  old  man  waited  till  Halmalo  disappeared,  then 
he  drew  his  fisherman's  cloak  closely  about  him 
and  set  out  on  his  course.  He  walked  with  slow  steps, 
thinking  deeply.  He  took  the  direction  of  Huisnes, 
while  Halmalo  went  toward  Beauvoir. 

Behind  him,  an  enormous  black  triangle,  with  a  cathe- 
dral for  tiara  and  a  fortress  for  breastplate,  with  its  two 
great  towers  to  the  east,  one  round,  the  other  square, 
helping  to  support  the  weight  of  the  church  and  village, 
rose  Mount  Saint  Michael,  which  is  to  the  ocean  what 
the  Pyramid  of  Cheops  is  to  the  desert. 

The  quicksands  of  Mount  Saint  Michael's  Bay  in- 
sensibly displace  their  dunes.  Between  Huisnes  and 
Ardevon  there  was  at  that  time  a  very  high  one,  which 
is  now  completely  effaced.  This  dune,  levelled  by  an 
equinoctial  storm,  had  the  peculiarity  of  being  very 
ancient  ;  on  its  summit  stood  a  commemorative  column, 
erected  in  the  twelfth  century,  in  memory  of  the  council 
held  at  Avranches  against  the  assassins  of  Saint  Thomas 
of  Canterbury,  From  the  top  of  this  dune  the  whole 
district  could  be  seen,  and  one  could  fix  the  points  of  the 
compass 


82  NINETY-THKEE. 

The  old  man  ascended  it. 

When  he  reached  the  top,  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
projections  of  the  stones,  with  his  back  against  the  pil- 
lar, and  began  to  study  the  kind  of  geographical  chart 
spread  beneath  his  feet.  He  seemed  to  be  seeking  a 
route  in  a  district  which  had  once  been  familiar.  In  the 
whole  of  this  vast  landscape,  made  indistinct  by  the 
twilight,  there  was  nothing  clearly  defined  but  the  hori- 
zon stretching  black  against  the  sky. 

He  could  perceive  the  roofs  of  eleven  towns  and  vil- 
lages ;  could  distinguish  for  several  leagues'  distance  all 
the  bell-towers  of  the  coast,  which  were  built  very  high, 
to  serve  in  case  of  need  as  landmarks  to  boats  at  sea. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  the  old  man  appeared  to 
have  found  what  he  sought  in  this  dim  clearness.  His 
eyes  rested  on  an  enclosure  of  trees,  walls,  and  roofs, 
partially  visible  midway  between  the  plain  and  the 
wood  ;  it  was  a  farm.  He  nodded  his  head  in  the  satis- 
fied way  a  man  does  who  says  to  himself,  "  There  it  is,  " 
and  began  to  trace  with  his  finger  a  route  across  the 
fields  and  hedges.  From  time  to  time  he  examined  a 
shapeless,  indistinct  object  stirring  on  the  principal  roof 
of  the  farm,  and  seemed  to  ask  himself,  "  What  can  it 
be  ?  "  It  was  colourless  and  confused,  owing  to  the 
gloom  ;  it  floated  —  therefore  it  was  not  a  weather-cock  ; 
and  there  was  no  reason  why  it  should  be  a  flag. 

He  was  weary  ;  he  remained  in  his  resting-place,  and 
yielded  passively  to  the  vague  forgetfulness  which  the 
first  moments  of  repose  bring  over  a  tired  man. 

There  is  an  hour  of  the  day  which  may  be  called  noise- 
less :  it  is  the  serene  hour  of  early  evening.  It  was 
about  him  now.  He  enjoyed  it;  he  looked,  he  listened 
—  to  what?  The  tranquillity.  Even  savage  natures 
have  their  moments  of  melancholy.  Suddenly  this  tran- 
quillity was  not  troubled,  but  accentuated  bv  the  voices 


THE   TOP  OE  THE   DUNE.  83 

of  persons  passing  below,  —  the  voices  of  women  and 
children.  It  was  like  a  chime  of  joy-bells  unexpectedly 
ringing  amid  the  shadows.  The  underbrush  hid  the 
group  from  whence  the  voices  came,  but  it  was  moving 
slowly  along  the  foot  of  the  dune  toward  the  plain  and 
the  forest.  The  clear,  fresh  tones  reached  distinctly 
the  pensive  old  man  ;  they  were  so  near  that  he  could 
catch  every  word. 

A  woman's  voice  said,  — 

"  We  must  hurry  ourselves,  Flécharde.  Is  this  the 
way  ?  " 

"  No,  yonder.  " 

The  dialogue  went  on  between  the  two  voices,  —  one 
high-pitched,  the  other  low  and  timid. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  farm  we  are  stopping  at  ?  " 

"  L'Herbe-en-Pail.  " 

"  Will  it  take  us  much  longer  to  get  there  ?  " 

"  A  good  quarter  of  an  hour.  " 

"  We  must  hurry  on  to  get  our  soup.  " 

*  Yes  ;  we  are  late.  " 

"  We  shall  have  to  run.  But  those  brats  of  yours  are 
tired.  We  are  only  two  women;  we  can't  carry  three 
brats.  And  you  —  you  are  already  carrying  one,  my 
Flécharde  ;  a  regular  lump  of  lead.  You  have  weaned 
the  little  gormandizer,  but  you  carry  her  all  the  same. 
A  bad  habit.  Do  me  the  favour  to  make  her  walk.  Oh, 
very  well  —  so  much  the  worse  !  The  soup  will  be 
cold.  " 

"  Oh,  what  good  shoes  these  are  that  you  gave  me  ! 
I  should  think  they  had  been  made  for  me.  " 

"  It  is  better  than  going  barefooted,  eh  ?" 

K  Hurry  up,  Bene -Jean  !  " 

ts  He  is  the  very  one  that  hindered  us.  He  must  needs 
chatter  with  all  the  little  peasant  girls  he  met.  Oh, 
he  shows  the  man  already f  " 


84  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  why,  he  is  going  on  five  years  old»  " 
"  I  say,  Eené-Jean,  what  made  you  talk  to  that  little 

girl  in  the  village  ?  " 

A  child's  voice,  that  of  a  boy,  replied,  — > 

"  Because  she  was  an  acquaintance  of  mine.  " 

"  What,  you  know  her  ?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"  Yes,    ever   since   this    morning  ;    she   played    some 

games  with  me.  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  man  you  are  !  "  cried  the  woman.     "  We 

have  only  been  three  days  in  the  neighbourhood;  that 

creature  there  is  no  bigger  than  your  fist,  and  he  has 

found  a  sweetheart  already  !  " 

The  voices  grew  fainter  and  fainter  ;  then  every  sound 

died  away. 


The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  discovering  that  a  Price  had  been 
set  upon  his  Head. 


CHAPTEK  II 

AURES  HABET,  ET  NON  AUDIET. 

THE  old  man  sat  motionless.  He  was  not  thinking1 
scarcely  dreaming.  About  him  was  serenity, 
rest,  safety,  solitude.  It  was  still  broad  daylight  on  the 
dune,  but  almost  dark  in  the  plain,  and  quite  night  in 
the  forest.  The  moon  was  floating  up  the  east ,  a  few 
stars  dotted  the  pale  blue  of  the  zenith.  This  man, 
though  full  of  preoccupation  and  stern  cares,  lost  him- 
self in  the  ineffable  sweetness  of  the  infinite.  He  felt 
within  him  the  obscure  dawn  of  hope,  if  the  word  hope 
may  be  applied  to  the  workings  of  civil  warfare.  For 
the  instant  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  escaping  from  that 
inexorable  sea  and  touching  land  once  more,  all  danger 
had  vanished.  No  one  knew  his  name  ;  he  was  alone, 
escaped  from  the  enemy,  having  left  no  trace  behind 
him,  for  the  sea  leaves  no  track  ;  hidden,  ignored  ;  not 
even  suspected.  He  felt  an  indescribable  calm  ;  a  little 
more  and  he  would  have  fallen  asleep. 

What  made  the  strange  charm  of  this  tranquil  home 
to  that  man,  a  prey  within  and  without  to  such  tumultSj 
was  the  profound  silence  alike  in  earth  and  sky. 

He  heard  nothing  but  the  wind  from  the  sea  ;  but  the 
wind  is  a  continual  bass,  which  almost  ceases  to  be  a 
noise,  so  accustomed  does  the  ear  become  to  its  tone. 

Suddenly  he  started  to  his  feet. 

His  attention  had  been  quickly  awakened  ;  he  looked 
about  the  horizon.     Then  his  glance  fixed  eagerly  upon  a 


86  NINETY-THREE. 

particular  point.  What  he  looked  at  was  the  belfry  of 
Cormeray,  which  rose  before  him  at  the  extremity  of 
the  plain.  Something  very  extraordinary  was  indeed 
going  on  within  it. 

The  belfry  was  clearly  defined  against  the  sky;  he 
could  see  the  tower  surmounted  by  the  spire,  and  be- 
tween the  two  the  cage  for  the  bell,  square,  without 
pent-house,  open  at  the  four  sides  after  the  fashion  of 
Breton  belfries. 

Now  this  cage  appeared  alternately  to  open  and  shut 
at  regular  intervals  ;  its  lofty  opening  showed  entirely 
white,  then  black  ;  the  sky  could  be  seen  for  an  instant 
through  it,  then  it  disappeared  ;  a  gleam  of  light  would 
come,  then  an  eclipse,  and  the  opening  and  shutting 
succeeded  each  other  from  moment  to  moment  with  the 
regularity  of  a  hammer  striking  its  anvil. 

This  belfry  of  Cormeray  was  in  front  of  the  old  man, 
about  two  leagues  from  the  place  where  he  stood.  He 
looked  to  his  right  at  the  belfry  of  Baguer-Pican,  which 
rose  equally  straight  and  distinct  against  the  horizon: 
its  cage  was  opening  and  shutting,  like  that  of  Cormeray. 

He  looked  to  his  left,  at  the  belfry  of  Tanis  :  the  cage 
of  the  belfry  of  Tanis  opened  and  shut,  like  that  of 
Baguer-Pican. 

He  examined  all  the  belfries  upon  the  horizon,  one 
after  another  :  to  his  left  those  of  Courtils,  of  Précey,  of 
Crollon,  and  the  Croix- Avranchin  ;  to  his  right  the  bel- 
fries of  Kaz-sur-Couesnon,  of  Mordrey,  and  of  the  Pas  ; 
in  front  of  him,  the  belfry  of  Pontorson.  The  cages  of 
all  these  belfries  were  alternately  white  and  black. 

What  did  this  mean  ? 

It  meant  that  all  the  bells  were  swinging.  In  order 
to  appear  and  disappear  in  this  way  they  must  be  vio- 
lently rung. 

What  was  it  for  ?     The  tocsin,  without  doubt. 


AURES  HABET,  ET  NON  AUDIET.        87 

The  tocsin  was  sounding,  sounding  madly,  on  every 
side,  from  all  the  belfries,  in  all  the  parishes,  in  all  the 
villages  ;  and  yet  he  could  hear  nothing. 

This  was  owing  to  the  distance  and  the  wind  from 
the  sea,  which,  sweeping  in  the  opposite  direction,  car- 
ried every  sound  of  the  shore  out  beyond  the  horizon. 

All  these  mad  bells  calling  on  every  side,  and  at  the 
same  time  this  silence  ;  nothing  could  be  more  sinister. 

The  old  man  looked  and  listened.  He  did  not  hear 
the  tocsin  ;  he  saw  it.  It  was  a  strange  sensation,  that 
of  seeing  the  tocsin. 

Against  whom  was  this  rage  of  the  bells  directed  ? 

Against  whom  did  this  tocsin  sound  ? 


CHAPTEE  III 

USEFULNESS  OF  BIG  LETTERS. 

ASSUREDLY  some  one  was  snared. 
Who? 

A  shiver  ran  through  this  man  of  steel. 

It  could  not  be  he  ?  His  arrival  could  not  have  been 
discovered.  It  was  impossible  that  the  acting  represen- 
tative should  have  received  information  ;  he  had  scarcely 
landed.  The  corvette  had  evidently  foundered,  and  not 
a  man  had  escaped.  And  even  on  the  corvette,  Boisber- 
thelot  and  La  Vieuville  alone  knew  his  name. 

The  belfries  kept  up  their  savage  sport.  He  mechan- 
ically watched  and  counted  them;  and  his  meditations, 
pushed  from  one  conjecture  to  another,  had  those  fluctu- 
ations caused  by  a  sudden  change  from  complete  se- 
curity to  a  terrible  consciousness  of  peril.  Still,  after 
all,  this  tocsin  might  be  accounted  for  in  many  ways  ; 
and  he  ended  by  reassuring  himself  with  the  repetition 
of,  "  In  short,  no  one  knows  of  my  arrival,  and  no  one 
knows  my  name.  " 

During  the  last  few  seconds  there  had  been  a  slight 
noise  above  and  behind  him.  This  noise  was  like  the 
fluttering  of  leaves.  He  paid  no  attention  to  it  at  first, 
but  as  the  sound  continued  —  one  might  have  said  in- 
*sisted  on  making  itself  heard  —  he  turned  round  at 
length.  It  was  in  fact  a  leaf,  but  a  leaf  of  paper.  The 
wind  was  trying  to  tear  off  a  large  placard  pasted  on  the 
stone  above  his  head.  This  placard  had  been  very  lately 
fastened  there,  for  it  was  still  moist,  and  offered  a  hold 


USEFULNESS  OF  BIG  LETTERS.  89 

to  the  wind,  which  had  begun  to  play  with  and  was 
detaching  it. 

The  old  man  had  ascended  the  dune  on  the  opposite 
side,  and  had  not  seen  this  placard  as  he  came  up. 

He  mounted  the  coping  where  he  had  been  seated,  and 
laid  his  hand -on  the  corner  of  the  paper  which  the  wind 
moved.  The  sky  was  clear,  for  the  June  twilights  are 
long  ;  the  bottom  of  the  dune  was  shadowy,  but  the  top 
in  light.  A  portion  of  the  placard  was  printed  in  large 
letters,  and  there  was  still  light  enough  for  him  to  make 
it  out.     He  read  this  :  — 

THE    FRENCH    REPUBLIC,    ONE    AND    INDIVISIBLE. 

We,  Prieur,  of  the  Marne,  acting  representative  of  the 
people  with  the  army  of  the  coast  of  Cherbourg,  give  notice  : 
The  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  Viscount  de  Fontenay, 
so-called  Breton  prince,  secretly  landed  on  the  coast  of  Gran- 
ville, is  declared  an  outlaw.  —  A  price  is  set  on  his  bead.  — ■ 
Any  person  bringing  him,  alive  or  dead,  will  receive  the  sum 
of  sixty  thousand  livres.  —  This  amount  will  not  be  paid 
in  assignats,  but  in  gold.  —  A  battalion  of  the  Cherbourg 
coast-guards  will  be  immediately  dispatched  for  the  appre- 
hension of  the  so-called  Marquis  de  Lantenac. 

The  parishes  are  ordered  to  lend  every  assistance. 

Given  at  the  Town-hall  of  Granville,  this  2d  of  Jane, 
1793. 

(Signed)  Prieur,  de  la  Marne. 

Under  this  name  was  another  signature,  in  much 
smaller  characters,  and  which  the  failing  light  prevented 
the  old  man's  deciphering. 

The  old  man  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  closed  his 
sea-jacket  up  to  his  chin  and  rapidly  descended  the 
dune. 

It  was  unsafe  to  remain  longer  on  this  summit. 

He  had  perhaps  already  stayed  too  long  ;  the  top  of  the 


90  NINETY-THREE. 

dune  was  the  only  point  in  the  landscape  which    still 
remained  visible. 

When  he  reached  the  obscurity  of  the  bottom,  he 
slackened  his  pace. 

He  took  the  route  which  he  had  traced  for  himself 
toward  the  farm,  evidently  having  reason  to  believe  that 
he  should  be  safe  in  that  direction. 

The  plain  was  deserted.  There  were  no  passers-by  at 
that  hour. 

He  stopped  behind  a  thicket  of  underbrush,  undid  his 
cloak,  turned  his  vest  the  hairy  side  out,  refastened  his 
rag  of  a  mantle  about  his  neck  by  its  cord,  and  resumed 
his  way. 

The  moon  was  shining. 

He  reached  a  point  where  two  roads  branched  off;  an 
old  stone  cross  stood  there.  Upon  the  pedestal  of  the 
cross  he  could  distinguish  a  white  square,  which  was 
most  probably  a  notice  like  that  he  had  just  read.  He 
went  toward  it. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  said  a  voice. 

He  turned  round. 

A  man  was  standing  in  the  hedge-row,  tall  like  him- 
self, old  like  himself,  with  white  hair  like  his  own,  and 
garments  even  more  dilapidated, — almost  his  double. 
This  man  leaned  on  a  long  stick. 

He  repeated,  — 

"  I  ask  you  where  you  are  going.  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  where  am  I  ?  "  returned  he,  with 
an  almost  haughty  composure. 

The  man  replied,  — 

"  You  are  in  the  seigneury  of  Tanis.  I  am  its  beggar  ; 
you  are  its  lord.  " 

"I?" 

"  Yes,  you,  my  lord  Marquis  de  Lantenac. w 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

THE   CAIMAND. 

THE  Marquis  de  Lantenac  — ■  we  shall  henceforth  call 
him  by  his  name  —  answered  quietly  :  — 

"  So  be  it.      Give  me  up.  " 

The  man  continued  :  — 

"  We  are  both  at  home  here  :  you  in  the  castle,  I  in 
the  bushes.  " 

"  Let  us  finish.  Do  your  work.  Betray  me,  "  said  the 
marquis. 

The  man  went  on  :  — - 

"  You  were  going  to  the  farm  of  Herbe-en-Pail,  were 
you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  Do  not  go.  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  the  Blues  are  thera  * 

"  Since  how  long  ?  " 

"  These  three  days.  " 

"  Did  the  people  of  the  farm  and  the  hamlet  resist  ?  " 

"  No  ;  they  opened  all  the  doors.  " 

"  Ah  !  "   said  the  marquis. 

The  man  pointed  with  his  finger  toward  the  roof  ci 
the  farm-house,  which  could  be  perceived  above  the 
trees  at  a  short  distance. 

"  You  can  see  the  roof,  Marquis  ?  " 

u  Yes.  * 


92  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Do  you  see  what  there  is  above  it  ?  * 

"  Something  floating  ?  " 

"  Yes.  ■ 

"  It  is  a  flag.  " 

"  The  tricolour,  "  said  the  man. 

This  was  the  object  which  had  attracted  the  marquis's 
attention  as  he  stood  on  the  top  of  the  dune. 

"  Is  not  the  tocsin  sounding  ?"  asked  the  marquis. 

"  Yes.  " 

"  On  what  account  ?  " 

"  Evidently  on  yours.  " 

"  But  I  cannot  hear  it.  " 

"  The  wind  carries  the  sound  the  other  way.  * 

The  man  added,  — 

"  Did  you  see  your  placard  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  They  are  hunting  you  ;  "  and  casting  a  glance  toward 
the  farm,  he  added,  "  There  is  a  demi-battalion  there.  ' 

■  Of  republicans  ?  " 

"  Parisians.  " 

*  Very  well,  "  said  the  marquis  :  "  march  on.  " 

And  he  took  a  step  in  the  direction  of  the  farm. 

The  man  seized  his  arm. 

"  Do  not  go  there.  " 

"  Where  do  you  wish  me  to  go  ?  " 

tt  Home  with  me.  " 

The  marquis  looked  steadily  at  the  mendicant. 

"  Listen,  my  lord  marquis.  My  house  is  not  fine, 
but  it  is  safe.  A  cabin  lower  than  a  cave.  For  flooring 
a  bed  of  sea-weed,  for  ceiling  a  roof  of  branches  and 
grass.  Come.  At  the  farm  you  will  be  shot;  in  my 
house  you  may  go  to  sleep.  You  must  be  tired  ;  and 
to-morrow  morning  the  Blues  will  march  on,  and  you 
can  go  where  you  please.  " 

The  marquis  studied  this  man. 


THE  CAIMAND.  93 

"  Which  side  are  you  on?"  he  asked.     "  Are  you  re- 
publican  ?     Are  you  royalist  ?  " 
u  I  am  a  beggar.  " 
"  Neither  royalist  nor  republican  ?  n 

*  I  believe  not.  " 

"  Are  you  for  or  against  the  king  ?  " 
u  I  have  no  time  for  that  sort  of  thing.  " 
k    "  What  do  you  think  of  what  is  passing  ?  " 

*  I  have  nothing  to  live  on.  " 

"  Still  you  come  to  my  assistance.  " 

"  Because  I  saw  you  were  outlawed.  What  is  the 
law  ?  So  one  can  be  beyond  its  pale.  I  do  not  compre- 
hend. Am  I  inside  the  law  ?  Am  I  outside  the  law  ?  1 
don't  in  the  least  know.  To  die  of  hunger,  is  that 
being  within  the  law?" 

"  How  long  have  you  been  dying  of  hunger  ?  " 

"  All  my  life.  " 

"  And  you  save  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  Why  ?  * 

"  Because  I  said  to  myself,  '  There  is  one  poorer  than  L 
I  have  the  right  to  breathe  ;  he  has  not.  '  " 

"  That  is  true.      And  you  save  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  we  are  brothers,  monseigneur.  I  ask 
for  bread  :  you  ask  for  life.     We  are  a  pair  of  beggars.  " 

"  But  do  you  know  there  is  a  price  set  on  my  head  ?  * 

"  Yes.  " 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  read  the  placard.  " 

"  You  know  how  to  read  ?  " 

u  Yes  ;  and  to  write,  too.      Why  should  I  be  a  brute  ?  " 

iS  Then,  since  you  can  read,  and  since  you  have  seen 
the  notice,  you  know  that  a  man  would  earn  sixt^ 
thousand  livres  by  giving  me  up  ?  " 

"  I  know  it.  " 


94  HESTEïY~THIiEE. 

"  Not  in  assignats.  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  in  gold.  " 

"  Sixty  thousand  livres f  Do  you  know  It  is  a 
fortune  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  And  that  anybody  apprehending  me  would  make  his 
fortune  ?  " 

"  Very  well  ;  what  next  ?  " 

"  His  fortune  !  " 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  thought.  When  I  saw  you,  I 
said,  'Just  to  think  that  anybody  by  giving  up  that 
man  yonder  would  gain  sixty  thousand  livres,  and  make 
his  fortune  !  '     Let  us  hasten  to  hide  him.  " 

The  marquis  followed  the  beggar. 

They  entered  a  thicket  ;  the  mendicant's  den  was 
there.  It  was  a  sort  of  chamber  which  a  great  old  oak 
had  allowed  the  man  to  take  possession  of  within  its 
heart  ;  it  was  dug  down  among  its  roots,  and  covered  by 
its  branches.  It  was  dark,  low,  hidden,  invisible. 
There  was  room  for  two  persons. 

"  I  foresaw  that  I  might  have  a  guest,  "  said  the 
mendicant. 

This  species  of  underground  lodging,  less  rare  in  Brit- 
tany than  people  fancy,  is  called  in  the  peasant  dialect 
a  camichot.  The  name  is  also  applied  to  hiding-places 
contrived  in  thick  walls. 

It  was  furnished  with  a  few  jugs,  a  pallet  of  straw 
or  dried  wrack,  with  a  thick  covering  of  kersey  ;  some 
tallow-dips,  a  flint  and  steel,  and  a  bundle  of  furze 
twigs  for  tinder. 

They  stooped  low,  — -  crept  rather,  —  penetrated  into 
the  chamber,  which  the  great  roots  of  the  tree  divided 
into  fantastic  compartments,  and  seated  themselves  on 
the  heap  of  dry  sea-weed  which  served  as  a  bed.  The 
space  between  two  of  the  roots,  which  made  the  doorway, 


THE   C  AIM  AND.  95 

allowed  a  little  light  to  enter.  Night  had  come  on; 
but  the  eye  adapts  itself  to  the  darkness,  and  one  always 
finds  at  last  a  little  day  among  the  shadows.  A  reflec- 
tion from  the  moon's  rays  dimly  silvered  the  entrance. 
In  a  corner  was  a  jug  of  water,  a  loaf  of  buckwheat 
bread,  and  some  chestnuts. 

"  Let  us  sup,  "  said  the  beggar. 

They  divided  the  chestnuts  ;  the  marquis  contributed 
his  morsel  of  biscuit.  They  bit  into  the  same  black  loaf, 
and  drank  out  of  the  jug,  one  after  the  other. 

They  conversed. 
The  marquis  began  to  question  this  man. 

"  So,  no  matter  whether  anything  or  nothing  happens, 
it  is  all  the  same  to  you  ?" 

"  Pretty  much.  You  are  the  lords,  you  others.  Those 
are  ybur  affairs.  " 

"  But  after  all,  present  events  —  " 

"  Pass  away  up  out  of  my  reach.  " 

The  beggar  added  presently  :  — 

"  Then  there  are  things  that  go  on  still  higher  up  : 
the  sun  that  rises,  the  moon  that  increases  or  dimin- 
ishes ;  those  are  the  matters  I  occupy  myself  about.  " 

He  took  a  sip  from  the  jug,  and  said,  — 

"  The  good  fresh  water  !  " 

Then  he  asked,  — 

"  How  do  you  find  the  water,  monseigneur  ?  * 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  inquired  the  marquis. 

"  My  name  is  Tellmarch,  but  I  am  called  the 
Caimand.  " 

"  I  understand.     Caimand  is  a  word  of  the  district.  " 

"  Which  means  beggar.  I  am  also  nicknamed  Le 
Vieux.  I  have  been  called  '  the  old  man'  these  forty 
years.  " 

"  Forty  years  !     But  you  were  a  young  man  then.  " 

"  I  never  was  young.     You  remain  so  always,  on  the 


96  NINETY-THREE. 

contrary,  my  lord  marquis.  You  have  the  legs  of  a 
boy  of  twenty  ;  you  can  climb  the  great  dune.  As  for 
me,  I  begin  to  find  it  difficult  to  walk  ;  at  the  end  of  a 
quarter  of  a  league  I  am  tired.  Nevertheless,  our  age  is 
the  same.  But  the  rich,  they  have  an  advantage  over 
us,  —  they  eat  every  day.     Eating  is  a  preservative.  " 

After  a  silence  the  mendicant  resumed  :  — 

"  Poverty,  riches  —  that  makes  a  terrible  business. 
That  is  what  brings  on  the  catastrophes,  —  at  least,  I 
have  that  idea.  The  poor  want  to  be  rich  ;  the  rich  are 
not  willing  to  be  poor.  I  think  that  is  about  what  it 
is  at  the  bottom.  I  do  not  mix  myself  up  with  matters. 
The  events  are  the  events.  I  am  neither  for  the  cred- 
itor nor  for  the  debtor.  I  know  there  is  a  debt,  and 
that  it  is  being  paid.  That  is  all.  I  would  rather  they 
had  not  .killed  the  king  ;  but  it  would  be  difficult  for  me 
to  say  why.  After  that,  somebody  will  answer,  '  But 
remember  how  they  used  to  hang  poor  fellows  on  trees 
for  nothing  at  all.  '  See  ;  just  for  a  miserable  gunshot 
fired  at  one  of  the  king's  roebucks,  I  myself  saw  a  man 
hung  who  had  a  wife  and  seven  children.  There  is 
much  to  say  on  both  sides.  " 

Again  he  was  silent  for  a  while.      Then  :  — 

"  I  am  a  little  of  a  bone-setter,  a  little  of  a  doctor ,  I 
know  the  herbs,  I  study  plants.  The  peasants  see  me 
absent,  preoccupied,  and  that  makes  me  pass  for  a  sor- 
cerer.     Because  I  dream,  they  think  I  must  be  wise.  " 

"  You  belong  to  the  neighbourhood  ?  "  asked  the  mar- 
quis. 

"  I  never  was  out  of  it.  " 

"  You  know  me?" 

"  Of  course.  The  last  time  I  saw  you  was  when  you 
passed  through  here  two  years  ago.  You  went  from 
here  to  England.  A  little  while  since  I  saw  a  man  on 
the  top  of  the  dune,  —  a  very  tall  man.     Tall  men  are 


THE   C  AIM  AND.  97 

rare  ;  Brittany  is  a  country  of  small  men.  I  looked 
close  ;  I  had  read  the  notice  ;  I  said  to  myself,  'Ah  ha  i  ' 
And  when  you  came  down  there  was  moonlight,  and  I 
recognized  you.  " 

"  And  yet  I  do  not  know  you.  " 

"  You  have  seen  me,  but  you  never  looked  at  me.  " 

And  Tellmarch  the  Caimand  added,  — ■ 

"  I  looked  at  you,  though.  The  giver  and  the  beggai 
do  not  look  with  the  same  eyes.  " 

"  Had  I  encountered  you  formerly  ?  " 

"  Often  ;  I  am  your  beggar.  I  was  the  mendicant  at 
the  foot  of  the  road  from  your  castle.  You  have  given 
me  alms.  But  he  who  gives  does  not  notice  ;  he  who 
receives  examines  and  observes.  When  you  say  mendi- 
cant, you  say  spy.  But  as  for  me,  though  I  am  often 
sad,  I  try  not  to  be  a  malicious  spy.  I  used  to  hold  out 
my  hand  ;  you  only  saw  the  hand,  and  you  threw  into  it 
the  charity  I  needed  in  the  morning  in  order  that  I 
might  not  die  in  the  evening.  I  have  often  been  twenty- 
four  hours  without  eating.  -  Sometimes  a  penny  is  life. 
I  owe  you  my  life  ;  I  pay  the  debt.  " 

"  That  is  true  ;  you  save  me.  " 

"  Yes,  I  save  you,  monseigneur.  " 

And  Tellmarch' s  voice  grew  solemn  as  he  added,  — 

"  On  one  condition.  " 

"  And  that  ?  " 

"  That  you  are  not  come  here  to  do  harm.  " 

"  I  come  here  to  do  good,  "  said  the  marquis. 

"  Let  us  sleep,  "  said  the  beggar. 

They  lay  down  side  by  side  on  the  sea-weed  bed  The 
mendicant  fell  asleep  immediately.  The  marquis, 
although  very  tired,  remained  thinking  deeply  for  a 
few  moments  ;  he  gazed  fixedly  at  the  beggar  in  the 
shadow,  and  then  lay  back.  To  lie  on  that  bed  was  to 
lie  on  the  ground^  —  which  suggested  to  him  to  put  his 


98  NINETY-THREE. 

ear  to  the  earth  and  listen.  He  could  hear  a  strange 
buzzing  underground.  We  know  that  sound  stretches 
down  into  the  depths  :  he  could  hear  the  noise  of  the 
bells. 

The  tocsin  was  still  sounding 

The  marquis  fell  asleep» 


CHAPTEK  V. 

SIGNED   GAUVAIN. 

T  was  daylight  when  he  awoke.  The  mendicant  was 
standing  up, —  not  in  the  den,  for  he  could  not  hold 
himself  erect  there,  but  without,  on  the  sill.  He  was 
leaning  on  his  stick.     The  sun  shone  upon  his  face. 

"Monseigneur,"  said  Tellmarch,  "four  o'clock  has 
just  sounded  from  the  belfry  of  Tanis.  I  could  count 
the  strokes,  therefore  the  wind  has  changed  :  it  is  the  land 
breeze.  I  can  hear  no  other  sound,  so  the  tocsin  has 
ceased.  Everything  is  tranquil  about  the  farm  and 
hamlet  ox'  Herbe-en-Pail.  The  Blues  are  asleep  or  gone. 
The  worst  of  the  danger  is  over  ;  it  will  be  wise  for  us 
to  separate.     It  is  my  hour  for  setting  out.  " 

He  indicated  a  point  in  the  horizon. 

"  I  am  going  that  way.  " 

He  pointed  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"  Go  you  this  way.  " 

The  beggar  made  the  marquis  a  gesture  of  salute.  He 
pointed  to  the  remains  of  the  supper. 

"  Take  the  chestnuts  with  you,  if  you  are  hungry.  " 

A  moment  after,  he  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

The  marquis  rose  and  departed  in  the  direction  which 
Tellmarch  had  indicated. 

It  was  that  charming  hour  called  in  the  old  Norman 
peasant  dialect  "  the  song-sparrow  of  the  day.  "  The 
finches  and  the  hedge-sparrows  flew  chirping  about.  The 
marquis  followed  the  path  by  which  they  had  come  on 


100  NINETY-THREE. 

the  previous  night.  He  passed  out  of  the  thicket  and 
found  himself  at  the  fork  of  the  road,  marked  by  the 
stone  cross.  The  placard  was  still  there,  looking  white, 
fairly  gay,  in  the  rising  sun.  He  remembered  that  there 
was  something  at  the  bottom  of  the  placard  which  he 
had  not  been  able  to  read  the  evening  before,  on  account 
of  the  twilight  and  the  size  of  the  letters.  He  went 
up  to  the  pedestal  of  the  cross.  Under  the  signature 
"  Prieur,  de  la  Marne,  "  there  were  yet  two  other 
lines  in  small  characters  :  — 

The  identity  of  the  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Lantenac  es- 
tablished, he  will  be  immediately  shot. 

(Signed)  Gauvain. 

Chief  of  battalion  commanding 

,     the  exploring  column. 

a  Gauvain  !  "  said  the  marquis.  He  stood  still,  think- 
ing deeply,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  notice. 

"  Gauvain  !  "  he  repeated. 

He  resumed  his  march,  turned  about,  looked  again 
at  the  cross,  walked  back,  and  once  more  read  the 
placard. 

Then  he  went  slowly  away.  Had  any  person  been 
near,  he  might  have  been  heard  to  murmur,  in  a  half- 
voice,  "  Gauvain  !  " 

From  the  sunken  paths  into  which  he  retreated  he 
could  only  see  the  roofs  of  the  farm,  which  lay  to  the 
left.  He  passed  along  the  side  of  a  steep  eminence 
covered  with  furze,  of  the  species  called  long-thorn,  in 
blossom.  The  summit  of  this  height  was  one  of  those 
points  of  land  named  in  Brittany  a  hure. 

At  the  foot  of  the  eminence  the  gaze  lost  itself  among 
the  trees.  The  foliage  seemed  bathed  in  light.  All 
Nature  was  filled  with  the  deep  joy  of  the  morning. 

Suddenly  this  landscape  became  terrible.     It  was  like 


SIGNED   GAUVAIN.  10i 

the  bursting  forth  of  an  ambuscade.  An  appalling,  in- 
describable trumpeting,  made  by  savage  cries  and  gun- 
shots, struck  upon  these  fields  and  these  woods  filled 
with  sunlight,  and  there  could  be  seen  rising  from  the 
side  toward  the  farm  a  great  smoke,  cut  by  clear  flames, 
as  if  the  hamlet  and  the  farm  buildings  were  consuming 
like  a  truss  of  burning  straw.  It  was  sudden  and  fear- 
ful,—  the  abrupt  change  from  tranquillity  to  fury;  an 
explosion  of  hell  in  the  midst  of  dawn  ;  a  horror  without 
transition.  There  was  fighting  in  the  direction  of  Herbe- 
en-Pail.      The  marquis  stood  still. 

There  is  no  man  in  a  similar  case  who  would  not  feel 
curiosity  stronger  than  a  sense  of  the  peril.  One  must 
know  what  is  happening,  if  one  perish  in  the  attempt. 
He  mounted  the  eminence  along  the  bottom  of  which 
passed  the  sunken  path  by  which  he  had  come.  From 
there  he  could  see,  but  he  could  also  be  seen.  He  re- 
mained on  the  top  for  some  instants.     He  looked  about. 

There  was,  in  truth,  a  fusilade  and  a  conflagration.  ■ 
He  could  hear  the  cries,  he  could  see  the  flames.  The 
farm  appeared  the  centre  of  some  terrible  catastrophe. 
What  could  it  be  ?  Was  the  farm  of  Herbe-en-Pail  at- 
tacked ?  But  by  whom  ?  Was  it  a  battle  ?  Was  it  not 
rather  a  military  execution?  Very  often  the  Blues  pun- 
ished refractory  farms  and  villages  by  setting  them  on  fire. 
They  were  ordered  to  do  so  by  a  revolutionary  decree  ; 
they  burned,  for  example,  every  farm-house  and  hamlet 
where  the  tree-cutting  prescribed  by  law  had  been  neg- 
lected, or  no  roads  opened  among  the  thickets  for  the  pas- 
sage of  the  republican  cavalry.  Only  very  lately,  the 
parish  of  Bourgon,  near  Ernée,  had  been  thus  destroyed. 
Was  Herbe-en-Pail  receiving  similar  treatment  ?  It  was 
evident  that  none  of  the  strategic  routes  called  for  by  the 
decree  had  been  made  among  the  copses  and  enclosures. 
Was  this  the  punishment  for  such  neglect?     Had  an 


102  NINETY-THREE. 

order  been  received  by  the  advance-guard  occupying  the 
farm?  Did  not  this  troop  make  part  of  one  of  those 
exploring  divisions  called  the  "  infernal  columns  "  ? 

A  bristling  and  savage  thicket  surrounded  on  all  sides 
the  eminence  upon  which  the  marquis  had  posted  him- 
self for  an  outlook,  This  thicket,  which  was  called  the 
grove  of  Herbe-en-Pail,  but  which  had  the  proportions  of 
a  wood,  stretched  to  the  farm,  and  concealed,  like  all 
Breton  copses,  a  network  of  ravines,  by-paths,  and 
deep  cuttings,  labyrinths  where  the  republican  armies 
lost  themselves. 

The  execution,  if  it  were  an  execution,  must  have  been 
a  ferocious  one,  for  it  was  short.  It  had  been,  like  all 
brutal  deeds,  quickly  accomplished.  The  atrocity  of 
civil  wars  admits  of  these  savage  vagaries.  While  the 
marquis,  multiplying  conjectures,  hesitating  to  de- 
scend, hesitating  to  remain,  listened  and  watched,  this 
crash  of  extermination  ceased,  or,  more  correctly  speak- 
ing, vanished.  The  marquis  took  note  of  something  in 
the  thicket  that  was  like  the  scattering  of  a  wild  and 
joyous  troop.  A  frightful  rushing  about  made  itself 
heard  beneath  the  trees.  From  the  farm  the  band  had 
thrown  themselves  into  the  wood.  Drums  beat.  Ko 
more  gunshots  were  fired.  Now  it  resembled  a  battue , 
they  seemed  to  search,  follow,  track.  They  were  evi- 
dently hunting  some  person.  The  noise  was  scattered 
and  deep  ;  it  was  a  confusion  of  words  of  wrath  and 
triumph  ;  of  indistinct  cries  and  clamour.  Suddenly,  as 
an  outline  becomes  visible  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  some- 
thing is  articulated  clearly  and  distinctly  amid  this 
tamult  :  it  was  a  name, —  a  name  repeated  by  a  thousand 
voices,  — and  the  marquis  plainly  heard  this  cry  :  — 

"  Lantenac  !  Lantenac  !     The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  !  " 

It  was  he  whom  they  were  looking  for. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

THE   WHIKLIGIGS   OF   CIVIL  WAR. 

SUDDENLY  all  about  him,  from  all  sides  at  the 
same  time,  the  copse  filled  with  muskets,  bayonets, 
and  sabres,  a  tricoloured  flag  rose  in  the  half-light,  the 
cry  of  "  Lantenac  !  "  burst  forth  in  his  very  ear,  and  at 
his  feet,  behind  the  brambles  and  branches,  savage  faces 
appeared. 

The  marquis  was  alone,  standing  on  a  height,  visible 
from  every  part  of  the  wood.  He  could  scarcely  see 
those  who  shrieked  his  name  ;  but  he  was  seen  by  all. 
If  a  thousand  muskets  were  in  the  wood,  there  was  he 
like  a  target.  He  could  distinguish  nothing  among  the 
brush-wood  but  burning  eyeballs  fastened  upon  him. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  turned  back  the  brim,  tore  a  long, 
dry  thorn  from  a  furze-bush,  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
white  cockade,  fastened  the  upturned  brim  and  the 
cockade  to  the.  hat  with  the  thorn,  and  putting  back  on 
his  head  the  hat,  whose  lifted  edge  showed  the  white 
cockade,  and  left  his  face  in  full  view,  he  cried  in 
a  loud  voice  that  rang  like  a  trumpet  through  the 
forest  :  — 

"  I  am  the  man  you  seek.  I  am  the  Marquis  de  Lan- 
tenac, Viscount  de  Fontenay,  Breton  prince,  lieutenant- 
general  of  the  armies  of  the  king.  Now  make  an  end  ! 
Aim  !     Fire  !  " 

And  tearing  open  with  both  hands  his  goat-skin  vest; 
he  bared  his  naked  breast. 


104  NINETY-THREE. 

He  looked  down,  expecting  to  meet  levelled  guns,  and 
saw  himself  surrounded  by  kneeling  men. 

Then  a  great  shout  arose  :  — 

"  Long  live  Lantenac  !  Long  live  Monseigneur  !  Long 
live  the  general!  " 

At  the  same  time  hats  were  flung  into  the  air,  sabres 
whirled  joyously,  and  through  all  the  thicket  could  be 
seen  rising  sticks  on  whose  points  waved  caps  of  brown 
woollen.      He  was  surrounded  by  a  Vendean  band. 

This  troop  had  knelt  at  sight  of  him. 

Old  legends  tell  of  strange  beings  that  were  found  in 
the  ancient  Thuringian  forests, —  a  race  of  giants,  more 
and  less  than  men,  who  were  regarded  by  the  Komans  as 
horrible  monsters,  by  the  Germans  as  divine  incarna- 
tions, and  who,  according  to  the  encounter,  ran  the  risk 
of  being  exterminated  or  adored. 

The  marquis  felt  something  of  the  sentiment  which 
must  have  shaken  one  of  those  creatures  when,  expect- 
ing to  be  treated  like  a  monster,  he  suddenly  found 
himself  worshipped  as  a  god. 

All  those  eyes,  full  of  terrible  lightnings,  were  fas- 
tened on  him  with  a  sort  of  savage  love. 

This  crowd  was  armed  with  muskets,  sabres,  scythes, 
poles,  sticks  ;  they  wore  great  beavers  or  brown  caps, 
with  white  cockades,  a  profusion  of  rosaries  and  amu- 
lets, wide  breeches  open  at  the  knee,  jackets  of  skins, 
leather  gaiters,  the  calves  of  their  legs  bare,  their  hair 
long  :  some  with  a  ferocious  look,  all  with  an  open  one. 

A  man,  young  and  of  noble  mien,  passed  through  the 
kneeling  throng,  and  hurried  toward  the  marquis. 
Like  the  peasants,  he  wore  a  turned-up  beaver  and  a 
white  cockade,  and  was  wrapped  in  a  fur  jacket;  but 
his  hands  were  white  and  his  linen  fine,  and  he  wore 
over  his  vest  a  white  silk  scarf,  from  which  hung  a 
gold-hilted  sword. 


THE   WHIRLIGIGS   OF   CIVIL   WAR.  10-, 

When  he  reached  the  hure  he  threw  aside  his  hat,  un 
tied  his  scarf,  bent  one  knee  to  the  ground,  and  pre 
sented  the  sword  and  scarf  to  the  marquis,  saying  : 

"  We  were  indeed  seeking  you,  and  we  have  found 
you.  Accept  the  sword  of  command.  These  men  are 
yours  now.  I  was  their  leader  ;  I  mount  in  grade,  for 
I  become  your  soldier.  Accept  our  homage,  my  lord. 
General,  give  me  your  orders.  " 

Then  he  made  a  sign,  and  some  men  who  carried  a 
tricoloured  flag  moved  out  of  the  wood.  They  marched 
up  to  where  the  marquis  stood,  and  laid  the  banner  at 
his  feet.  It  was  the  flag  which  he  had  just  caught  sight 
of  through  the  trees. 

"  General,  "  said  the  young  man  who  had  presented  to 
him  the  sword  and  scarf,  "  this  is  the  flag  we  just  took 
from  the  Blues,  who  held  the  farm  of  Herbe-en-Pail. 
Monseigneur,  I  am  named  Gavard.  I  belong  to  the 
Marquis  de  la  Eouarie.  " 

*  It  is  well,  "  said  the  marquis.  And,  calm  and  grave, 
he  put  on  the  scarf. 

Then  he  drew  his  sword,  and  waving  it  above  his 
head,   he  cried,  — 

"  Up  !     Long  live  the  king  !  " 

All  rose.  Through  the  depths  of  the  wood  swelled  a 
wild  triumphant  clamour  :  "  Long  live  the  king  !  Long 
live  our  marquis  !     Long  live  Lantenac  !  " 

The  marquis  turned  toward  Gavard  :  — 

"  How  many  are  you  ?  " 

"  Seven  thousand.  " 

And  as  they  descended  the  eminence,  while  the  peas- 
ants cleared  away  the  furze-bushes  to  make  a  path  for 
the  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  Gavard  continued  :  — 

"  Monseigneur,  nothing  more  simple.  All  can  be 
explained  in  a  word.  It  only  needed  a  spark.  The 
reward    offered    by    the    Republic,    in    revealing    your 


106  NINETY-THREE. 

presence,  roused  the  whole  district  for  the  king.  Be- 
sides ihat,  we  had  been  secretly  warned  by  the  mayor 
of  Granville,  who  is  one  of  our  men,  the  same  who 
saved  the  Abbé  Ollivier.  Last  night  they  sounded  the 
tocsin.  " 

"  For  whom  ?  " 

"  For  you.  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  marquis.  . 

"  And  here  we  are,  "  pursued  Gavard. 

"  And  you  are  seven  thousand  ?  " 

"  To-day.  We  shall  be  fifteen  thousand  to-morrow. 
It  is  the  Breton  contingent.  When  Monsieur  Henri 
de  la  Kochejacquelein  set  out  to  join  the  Catholic  army, 
the  tocsin  was  sounded,  and  in  one  night  six  parishes  — ■ 
Isernay,  Corqueux,  the  Echaubroignes,  the  Aubiers, 
Saint- Aubin,  and  Nueil  —  brought  him  ten  thousand 
men.  They  had  no  munitions  ;  they  found  in  the  house 
of  a  quarry-master  sixty  pounds  of  blasting-powder, 
and  M.  de  la  Eochejacquelein  set  off  with  that.  We 
were  certain  you  must  be  in  some  part  of  this  forest, 
and  we  were  seeking  you.  " 

"  And  you  attacked  the  Blues  at  the  farm  of  Herbe-en- 
Pail  ?  " 

"  The  wind  prevented  their  hearing  the  tocsin.  They 
suspected  nothing  ;  the  people  of  the  hamlet,  who  are 
a  set  of  clowns,  received  them  well.  This  morning  we 
surrounded  the  farm  ;  the  Blues  were  asleep,  and  we  did 
the  thing  out  of  hand.  I  have  a  horse.  Will  you  deign 
to  accept  it,  General  ?  " 

"Yes." 

A  peasant  led  up  a  white  horse  with  military  ca- 
parisons. The  marquis  mounted  without  the  assistance 
Gavard  offered  him. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  the  peasants.  The  cries  of  the 
English  were  greatly  in  use  along  the  Breton  coast,  in 


THE    WHIRLIGIGS   OF   CIVIL   WAR.  107 

constant  communication  as   it  was  with  the    Channel 
Islands. 

Gava^l  made  a  military  salute,  and  asked,  — 

"  Where    will   you    make    your   head-quarters,    mon- 
seigneur ?  " 

"  At  first  in  the  Forest  of  Fougères.  " 

"  It  is  one  of  your  seven  forests,  rny  lord  marquis.  " 

"  We  must  have  a  priest.  " 
■   "  We  have  one.  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  curate  of  the  Chapelle-Erbrée.  " 

"  I  know  him.      He  has  made  the  voyage  to  Jersey.  " 

A  priest  stepped  out  of  the  ranks,  and  said,  — 

"  Three  times.  " 

The  marquis  turned  his  head. 

"  Good-morning,  Monsieur  le  Curé.     You  have  work 
before  you.  " 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  lord  marquis.  * 

"  You  will  have  to  hear  confessions,  —  those  who  wish  ; 
nobody  will  be  forced.  " 

"  My  lord  marquis,  "  said  the  priest,  "  at  Guéménée, 
Gaston  forces  the  republicans  to  confess.  " 

"  He    is    a   hairdresser,  "    said   the    marquis  ;    "  death 
ought  to  be  free.  " 

Gavard,  who  had  gone  to  give  some  orders,  returned. 

"  General,  I  wait  your  commands.  " 

"  First,    the   rendezvous    in    the  Forest  of   Fougères 
Let  the  men  disperse,  and  make  their  way  there.  " 

"  The  order  is  given.  " 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  the  people  of  Herbe-en-Pai] 
had  received  the  Blues  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  General.  " 

"  You  have  burned  the  house  ?  " 

«  Yes.  " 

"  Have  you  burned  the  hamlet?  " 


108  NINETY-THREE. 

"No." 

"  Burn  it.  " 

"  The  Blues  tried  to  defend  themselves,  but  they  were 
a  hundred  and  fifty,  and  we  were  seven  thousand.  " 

"  Who  were  they  ?  " 

"  Santerre's  men.  " 

"  The  one  who  ordered  the  drums  to  beat  while  the 
king's  head  was  being  cut  off?  Then  it  is  a  regiment  of 
Paris  ?  " 

"  A  half-regiment.  " 

"  Its  name  ?  " 

"  General,  it  had  on  its  flag,  5  Battalion  of  the  Bonnet 
Rouge.  '  " 

"  Wild  beasts.  " 

"  Wrhat  is  to  be  done  with  the  wounded  ?  " 

a  Put  an  end  to  them.  " 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  the  prisoners  ?  w 

"  Shoot  them.  " 

"  There  are  about  eighty.  " 

"  Shoot  the  whole.  " 

"  There  are  two  women.  " 

"  Them  also.  " 

"  There  are  three  children.  " 

"  Carry  them  off.  We  will  see  what  shall  be  done 
with  them.  " 

And  the  marquis  rode  on. 


CHAPTEE  VIL 

K  NO  MERCY  !  "  (WATCHWORD  OF  THE  COMMUNE).   *  NO 
QUARTER  !  "  (WATCHWORD  OF  THE  PRINCES) 

WHILE  all  this  was  passing  near  Tanis,  the  mendi- 
cant had  gone  toward  Crollon.  He  plunged  into 
the  ravines,  among  the  vast  silent  bowers  of  shade, 
inattentive  to  everything  and  attentive  to  nothing,  as 
he  had  himself  said  ;  di earner  rather  than  thinker,  for  the 
thoughtful  man  has  an  aim,  and  the  dreamer  has  none  ; 
wandering,  rambling,  pausing,  munching  here  and  there 
a  bunch  of  wild  sorrel  ;  drinking  at  the  springs,  occa- 
sionally raising  his  head  to  listen  to  the  distant  tumult, 
again  falling  back  into  the  bewildering  fascination  of 
Nature  ;  warming  his  rags  in  the  sun  ;  hearing  sometimes 
the  noise  of  men,  but  listening  to  the  song  of  the  birds. 

He  was  old,  and  moved  slowly.  He  could  not  walk 
far;  as  he  had  said  to  the  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  a  quar- 
ter of  a  league  fatigued  him.  He  made  a  short  circuit  to 
the  Croix-Avranchin,  and  evening  had  come  before  he 
returned. 

A  little  beyond  Macey,  the  path  he  was  following  led 
to  a  sort  of  culminating  point,  bare  of  trees,  from 
whence  one  could  see  very  far,  taking  in  the  whole 
stretch  of  the  western  horizon  to  the  sea. 

A  column  of  smoke  attracted  his  attention. 

Nothing  calmer  than  smoke,  but  nothing  more  start- 
ling. There  are  peaceful  smokes,  and  there  are  evil 
ones.  The  thickness  and  colour  of  a  line  of  smoke 
marks  the  whole  difference  between  war  and  peace,  be- 


110  NINETY-THREE. 

tween  fraternity  and  hatred,  between  hospitality  and 
the  tomb,  between  life  and  death.  A  smoke  mounting 
among  the  trees  may  be  a  symbol  of  all  that  is  most 
charming  in  the  world,  —  a  heart  at  home  ;  or  a  sign 
of  that  which  is  most  awful,  —  a  conflagration.  The 
whole  happiness  of  man,  or  his  most  complete  misery,  is 
sometimes  expressed  in  this  thin  vapour,  which  the 
wind  scatters  at  will. 

The  smoke  which  Tellmarch  saw  was  disquieting. 

It  was  black,  dashed  now  and  then  with  sudden 
gleams  of  red,  as  if  the  brasier  from  which  it  flowed 
burned  irregularly,  and  had  begun  to  die  out;  and  it 
rose  above  Herbe-en-Pail. 

Tellmarch  quickened  his  steps,  and  walked  toward 
this  smoke. 

He  was  very  tired,  but  he  must  know  what  this 
signified. 

He  reached  the  summit  of  a  hill,  against  whose  side 
the  hamlet'  and  the  farm  were  nestled. 

There  was  no  longer  either  farm  or  hamlet. 

A  heap  of  ruins  was  burning  still  ;  it  was  Herbe-en- 
Pail. 

There  is  something  which  it  is  more  painful  to  see  burn 
than  a  palace,  —  it  is  a  cottage.  A  cottage  on  fire  is  a 
lamentable  sight.  It  is  a  devastation  swooping  down 
on  poverty,  the  vulture  pouncing  upon  the  worms  of  the 
ground;  there  is  in  it  a  contradiction  which  chills  the 
heart. 

If  we  believe  the  Biblical  legend,  the  sight  of  a  con- 
flagration changed  a  human  being  into  a  statue.  For  a 
moment  Tellmarch  seemed  thus  transformed.  The  spec- 
tacle before  his  eyes  held  him  motionless.  Destruction 
was  completing  its  work  amid  unbroken  silence.  Not 
a  cry  arose  ;  not  a  human  sigh  mingled  with  this  smoke. 
This  furnace  laboured,  and  finished  devouring  the  vil- 


"NO  MERCY  V'     "NO   QUARTER!"  11) 

iage,  without  any  noise  being  heard  save  the  creaking 
of  the  timbers  and  the  crackling  of  the  thatch.  At 
moments  the  smoke  parted,  the  fallen  roofs  revealed  the 
gaping  chambers,  the  brasier  showed  all  its  rubies  ;  rags 
turned  to  scarlet,  and  miserable  bits  of  furniture,  tinted 
with  purple,  gleamed  amid  these  vermilion  interiors, 
and  Tellmarch  was  dizzied  by  the  sinister  bedazzlement 
of  disaster. 

Some  trees  of  a  chestnut  grove  near  the  houses  had 
taken  lire,  and  were  blazing. 

He  listened,  trying  to  catch  the  sound  of  a  voice,  an 
appeal,  a  cry.  Nothing  stirred  except  the  flames  ;  every- 
thing was  silent,  save  the  conflagration.  Was  it  that  all 
had  fled  ? 

Where  was  the  knot  of  people  who  lived  and  toiled  at 
Herbe-en-Pail  ?  What  had  become  of  this  little  band  ? 
Tellmarch  descended  the  hill. 

A  funereal  enigma  rose  before  him.  He  approached 
without  haste,  with  fixed  eyes.  He  advanced  toward 
this  ruin  with  the  slowness  of  a  shadow  ;  he  felt  like  a 
ghost  in  this  tomb. 

He  reached  what  had  been  the  door  of  the  farm-house, 
and  looked  into  the  court,  which  had  no  longer  any  walls, 
and  was  confounded  with  the  hamlet  grouped  about  it. 

What  he  had  before  seen  was  nothing.      He  had  hith 
erto  only  caught  sight  of  the  terrible  ;  the  horrible  ap- 
peared to  him  now. 

In  the  middle  of  the  court  was  a  black  heap,  vaguely 
outlined  on  one  side  by  the  flames,  on  the  other  by  the 
moonlight.  This  heap  was  a  mass  of  men  ;  these  men 
were  dead. 

All  about  this  human  mound  spread  a  great  poo] 
which  smoked  a  little  ;  the  flames  were  reflected  in  this 
pool,  but  it  had  no  need  of  fire  to  redden  it,  —  it  was 
blood. 


112  NINETY-THREE. 

Tellmarch  went  closer,  lie  began  to  examine  these 
prostrate  bodies  one  after  another  :  they  were  all  dead 
men. 

The  moon  shone  ;  the  conflagration  also. 

These  corpses  were  the  bodies  of  soldiers.  All  had 
oheir  feet  bare  ;  their  shoes  had  been  taken.  Their 
weapons  were  gone  also  ;  they  still  wore  their  uniforms, 
which  were  blue.  Here  and  there  he  could  distinguish 
among  these  heaped-up  limbs  and  heads  shot-riddled 
hats  with  trico]oured  cockades.  They  were  republicans. 
They  were  those  Parisians  who  on  the  previous  evening 
had  been  there,  all  living,  keeping  garrison  at  the  farm 
of  Herbe-en-Pail.  These  men  had  been  executed  :  this 
was  shown  by  the  symmetrical  position  of  the  bodies  ; 
they  had  been  struck  down  in  order,  and  with  care. 
They  were  all  quite  dead.  Not  a  single  death-gasp 
sounded  from  the  mass. 

Tellmarch  passed  the  corpses  in  review  without  omit- 
ting one  ;  they  were  all  riddled  with  balls. 

Those  who  had  shot  them,  in  haste  probably  to  get 
elsewhere,  had  not  taken  the  time  to  bury  them. 

As  he  was  preparing  to  move  away,  his  eyes  fell  on  a 
low  wall  in  the  court,  and  he  saw  four  feet  protruding 
from  one  of  its  angles. 

They  had  shoes  on  them  ;  they  were  smaller  than  the 
others.  Tellmarch  went  up  to  this  spot.  They  were 
women's  feet.  Two  women  were  lying  side  by  side  be- 
hind the  wall  ;  they  also  had  been  shot. 

Tellmarch  stooped  over  them.  One  of  the  women 
wore  a  sort  of  uniform;  by  her  side  was  a  canteen, 
bruised  and  empty  :  she  had  been  vivandière.  She  had 
four  balls  in  her  head.      She  was  dead. 

Tellmarch  examined  the  other.  This  was  a  peasant. 
She  was  livid  :  her  mouth  open.  Her  eyes  were  closed 
There  was  no  wound  in  her  head.     Her  garments,  which 


«NO  MERCY  !"    "NO   QUARTER!"  173 

long  marches,  no  doubt,  had  worn  to  rags,  were  disar- 
ranged by  her  fall,  leaving  her  bosom  half  naked 
Tellmarch  pushed  her  dress  aside,  and  saw  on  one 
shoulder  the  round  wound  which  a  ball  makes  ;  the 
shoulder-blade  was  broken.  He  looked  at  her  Livid 
breast. 

'k  Nursing  mother,  "  he  murmured. 

He  touched  her.      She  was  not  cold. 

She  had  no  hurts  besides  the  broken  shoulder-blade  and 
the  wound  in  the  shoulder. 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  heart,  and  felt  a  faint  throb. 
She  was  not  dead. 

Tellmarch  raised  himself,  and  cried  out  in  a  terrible 
voice,  — 

"  Is  there  no  one  here  ?  " 

"  Is  it  you,  Caimand  ?  "  a  voice  replied,  so  low  that  it 
could  scarcely  be  heard. 

At  the  same  time  a  head  was  thrust  out  of  a  hole  in 
the  ruin.  Then  another  face  appeared  at  another  aper- 
ture. They  were  two  peasants,  who  had  hidden  them- 
selves,—  the  only  ones  who  survived. 

The  well-known  voice  of  the  Caimand  had  reassured 
them,  and  brought  them  out  of  the  holes  in  which  they 
had  taken  refuge. 

They  advanced  toward  the  old  man,  both  still  trem- 
bling violently. 

Tellmarch  had  been  able  to  cry  out,  but  he  could  not 
talk  ;  strong  emotions  produce  such   effects. 

He  pointed  out  to  them  with  his  finger  the  woman 
stretched  at  his  feet. 

"  Is  there  still  life  in  her  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  peasants. 

Tellmarch  gave  an  affirmative  nod  of  the  head. 

"  Is  the  other  woman  living  \  "  demanded  the  seco*^ 
man. 

Tellmarch.  shook  his  head 


114  NINETY-THREE. 

The  peasant  who  had  first  shown  himself  continued*. 

"  All  the  others  are  dead,  are  they  not  ?  I  saw  the 
whole.  I  was  in  my  cellar.  How  one  thanks  God  at 
such  a  moment  for  not  having  a  family  !  My  house 
burned.  Blessed  Saviour  !  They  killed  everybody.  This 
woman  here  had  three  children  —  all  little.  The  children 
cried,  'Mother!'  The  mother  cried,  'My  children!' 
Those  who  massacred  everybody  are  gone.  They  were 
satisfied.  They  carried  off  the  little  ones,  and  shot  the 
mother.  I  saw  it  all.  But  she  is  not  dead, — didn't 
you  say  so  ?  She  is  not  dead  ?  Tell  us,  Caimand,  do 
you  think  you  could  save  her?  Do  you  want  us  to 
help  carry  her  to  your  carnichot  ?  " 

Tellmarch  made  a  sign,  which  signified  "  Yes.  " 

The  wood  was  close  to  the  farm.  They  quickly  made 
a  litter  with  branches  and  ferns.  They  laid  the  woman, 
still  motionless,  upon  it,  and  set  out  toward  the  copse, 
the  two  peasants  carrying  the  litter,  one  at  the  head, 
the  other  at  the  feet,  Tellmarch  holding  the  woman's 
arm,  and  feeling  her  pulse. 

As  they  walked,  the  two  peasants  talked;  and  over 
the  body  of  the  bleeding  woman,  whose  white  face  was 
lighted  up  by  the  moon,  they  exchanged  frightened 
ejaculations. 

"To  kill  all!" 

"  To  burn  everything  !  " 

"  Ah,  my  God  !    Is  that  the  way  things  will  go  now  ?  " 

"  It  was  that  tall  old  man  who  ordered  it  to  be  done.  " 

"  Yes  ;  it  was  he  who  commanded.  " 

"  I  did  not  see  while  the  shooting  went  on.  Was  he 
there  ?  " 

"  No.  He  had  gone.  But  no  matter  ;  it  was  all  done 
by  his  orders.  " 

"  Then  it  was  he  who  did  the  whole.  " 

"  He  said,  '  Kill  !  burn  !  no  quarter  !  '  * 


"NO  MERCY!"    "NO   QUARTER!"  115 

"  He  is  a  marquis.  " 

u  Of  course,  since  he  is  our  marquis.  " 

"  What  do  they,  call  him  now  ?  " 

"  He  is  M.  de  Lantenac.  " 

Tellmarch  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  murmured  : 

"  If  I  had  known  !  " 


PAKT    IL 
W   PARIS. 

BOOK    L 

CIMOUEBAII. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  STREETS  OF  PAEIS  AT  THAT  TIME. 

PEOPLE  lived  in  public  :  they  ate  at  tables  spread 
outside  the  doors;  women  seated  on  the  steps  of 
the  churches  made  lint  as  they  sang  the  *  Marseillaise.  " 
Park  Monceaux  and  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  were 
parade-grounds.  There  were  gunsmiths'  shops  in  full 
work  ;  they  manufactured  muskets  before  the  eyes  of  the 
passers-by,  who  clapped  their  hands  in  applause.  The 
watchword  on  every  lip  was,  "  Patience  ;  we  are  in  revo- 
lution. "  The  people  smiled  heroically.  They  went  to 
the  theatre  as  they  did  at  Athens  during  the  Pelopon- 
nesian  war.  One  saw  play-bills  such  as  these  pasted  at 
the  street  corners  :  "  The  Siege  of  Thionville  ;  "  "A 
Mother  saved  from  the  Flames  ;  "  "  The  Club  of  the 
Careless  ;  "  "  The  Eldest  of  the  Popes  Joan  ;  "  "  The  Phi- 
losopher-Soldiers :  "  "  The  Art  of  Village  Love-making.  " 
The  Germans  were  at  the  gates  ;  a  report  was  current 
that  the  King  of  Prussia  h?d  secured  boxes  at  the  Opera. 


THE   STREETS   OF  PARIS  AT  THAT  TIME.  117 

Everything  was  terrible,  and  no  one  was  frightened. 
The  mysterious  law  against  the  suspected,  which  was 
the  crime  of  Merlin  of  Douai,  held  a  vision  of  the  guil- 
lotine above  every  head.  A  solicitor  named  Séran,  who 
had  been  denounced,  awaited  his  arrest  in  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  playing  his  flute  at  his  window.  Nobody 
seemed  to  have  leisure:  all  the  world  was  In  a  hurry. 
Every  hat  bore  a  cockade.  The  women  said,  "  We  are 
pretty  in  red  caps.  "  All  Paris  seemed  to  be  removing. 
The  curiosity-shops  were  crowded  with  crowns,  mitres, 
sceptres  of  gilded  wood,  and  fleurs-de-lis  torn  down  from 
royal  dwellings  :  it  was  the  demolition  of  monarchy 
that  went  on.  Copes  were  to  be  seen  for  sale  at  the  old- 
clothesmen's,  and  rochets  hung  on  hooks  at  their  doors. 
At  Eamponneau's  and  the  Porcherons,  men  dressed  out  in 
surplices  and  stoles,  and  mounted  on  donkeys  capari- 
soned with  chasubles,  drank  wine  at  the  doors  from 
cathedral  ciboria.  In  the  Eue  Saint  Jacques,  barefooted 
street-pavers  stopped  the  wheelbarrow  of  a  peddler  who 
had  boots  for  sale,  and  clubbed  together  to  buy  fifteen 
pairs  of  shoes,  which  they  sent  to  the  Convention  "  for 
our  soldiers.  " 

Busts  of  Franklin,  Eousseau,  Brutus,  and,  we  must 
add,  of  Marat,  abounded.  Under  a  bust  of  Marat  in  the 
Eue  Cloche-Perce  was  hung  in  a  black  wooden  frame,  and 
under  glass,  an  address  against  Malouet,  with  testimony 
in  support  of  the  charges,  and  these  marginal  lines  : 

These  details  were  furnished  me  by  the  mistress  of  Silvain 
Bailly,  a  good  patriotess,  who  has  a  liking  for  me. 

(Signed)  Marat. 

The  inscription  on  the  Palais  Eoyal  fountain  — 
*  Quantos  effundit  in  usus  !  "  —  was  hidden  under  two 
great  canvases  painted  in  distemper,  the  one  represent 


118  NINETY-THREE. 

ing  Cahier  de  Gerville  denouncing  to  the  National  As< 
senibly  the  rallying  ory  of  the  "  Chiffonistes  "  of  Aries  ; 
the  other,  Louis  XVjl.  brought  back  from  Varennes  in 
his  royal  carriage,  and  under  the  carriage  a  plank  fas- 
tened by  cords,  on  each  end  of  which  was  seated  a  gren- 
adier with  fixed  bayonet. 

Very  few  of  the  larger  shops  were  open  ;  peripatetic 
haberdashery  and  toy  shops  were  dragged  about  by 
women,  lighted  by  candles,  which  dropped  their  tallow 
on  the  merchandise.  Open-air  shops  were  kept  by 
ex-nuns,  in  blond  wigs.  This  mender,  darning  stock- 
ings in  a  stall,  was  a  countess;  that  dressmaker,  a 
marchioness.  Madame  de  Boufflers  inhabited  a  garret, 
from  whence  she  could  look  out  at  her  own  hotel. 
Hawkers  ran  about  offering  the  "  papers  of  news.  "  Per- 
sons who  wore  cravats  that  hid  their  chins  were  called 
"  the  scrofulous.  "  Street-singers  swarmed.  The  crowd 
hooted  Pitou,  the  royalist  song-writer,  and  a  valiant 
man  into  the  bargain  ;  he  was  twenty-two  times  impris- 
oned and  taken  before  the  revolutionary  tribunal  for  slap- 
ping his  coat-tails  as  he  pronounced  the  word  civism. 
Seeing  that  his  head  was  in  danger,  he  exclaimed  :  "  But 
it  is  just  the  opposite  of  my  head  that  is  in  fault!  "  — a 
witticism  which  made  the  judges  laugh,  and  saved  his 
life.  This  Pitou  ridiculed  the  rage  for  Greek  and  Latin 
names  ;  his  favourite  song  was  about  a  cobbler,  whom 
he  called  Cujus,  and  to  whom  he  gave  a  wife  named 
Cujusdam.  They  danced  the  Carmagnole  in  great  circles. 
They  no  longer  said  "  gentleman  and  lady,  "  but  "  citizen 
and  citizeness.  "  They  danced  in  the  ruined  cloisters 
with  the  church-lamps  lighted  on  the  altars,  with  cross- 
shaped  chandeliers  hanging  from  the  vaulted  roofs,  and 
tombs  beneath  their  feet.  Waistcoats  of  "  tyrant's  blue  " 
were  worn.  There  were  "  liberty-cap  "  shirt-pins  made 
of  white,  blue,  and  red  stones.      The  Eue  de  Eichelieu 


THE  STREETS  OF  PARIS   AT  THAT  TIME.  119 

was  called  the  Street  of  Law  ;  the  Faubourg  Saint  An- 
toine was  named  the  Faubourg  of  Glory  ;  a  statue  of  Na- 
ture stood  in  the  Place  de  la  Bastille.  People  pointed  out 
to  one  another  certain  well-known  personages,  —  Chatelet, 
Didier,  Nicholas  and  Garnier-Delaunay,  who  stood  guard 
at  the.  door  of  Duplay  the  joiner;  Voullant,  who  never 
missed  a  guillotine-day,  and  followed  the  carts  of  the 
condemned, — he  called  it  going  to  "the  red  mass;" 
Montrlabert,  revolutionary  juryman,,  and  a  marquis,  who 
took  the  name  of  "  Dix  Août  [Tenth  of  August].  People 
watched  the  pupils  of  the  École  Militaire  file  past,  de- 
scribed by  the  decrees  of  the  Convention  as  "  aspirants 
in  the  school  of  Mars,  "  and  by  the  crowd  as  "  the  pages 
of  Kobespierre.  "  They  read  the  proclamations  of  Fréron 
denouncing  those  suspected  of  the  crime  of  "  negotian- 
tism.  "  The  dandies  collected  at  the  doors  of  the  mayor- 
alties to  mock  at  the  civil  marriages,  thronging  about 
the  brides  and  grooms  as  they  passed,  and  shouting 
"  Married  municipaliter  !  "  At  the  Invalides  the  statues 
of  the  saints  and  kings  were  crowned  with  Phrygian 
caps.  They  played  cards  on  the  curb -stones  at  the  cross- 
ings. The  packs  of  cards  were  also  in  the  full  tide  of 
revolution  :  the  kings  were  replaced  by  genii,  the  queens 
by  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  the  knaves  by  figures  repre- 
senting Equality,  and  the  aces  by  impersonations  of 
Law.  They  tilled  the  public  gardens  ;  the  plough  worked 
at  the  Tuileries.  With  all  these  excesses  was  mingled, 
especially  among  the  conquered  parties,  an  indescribable 
haughty  weariness  of  life.  A  man  wrote  to  Fouquier- 
Tinville,  "  Have  the  goodness  to  free  me  from  existence. 
This  is  my  address.  "  Champcenetz  was  arrested  for  hav- 
ing cried  in  the  midst  of  the  Palais  Eoyal  garden  :  "  When 
are  we  to  have  the  revolution  of  Turkey  ?  I  want  to  see 
the  republic  à  la  Porte.  "  Newspapers  appeared  in  legions. 
The  hairdressers'  men  curled  the  wigs  of  women  in  pub- 


120  NINETY-THREE. 

Jic,  while  the  master  read  the  "  Moniteur  "  aloud.  Others, 
surrounded  by  eager  groups,  commented  with  violent 
gestures  upon  the  journal  "Listen  to  Us,"  of  Dubois 
Crancé,  or  the  "  Trumpet  "  of  Father  Bellerose.  Some- 
times the  barbers  were  pork-sellers  as  well,  and  hams 
and  chitterlings  might  be  seen  hanging  side  by  side 
with  a  golden-haired  doll.  Dealers  sold  in  the  open 
street  "  wines  of  the  refugees  ;  "  one  merchant  advertised 
wines  of  fifty-two  sorts.  Others  displayed  harp-shaped 
clocks  and  sofas  à  la  duchesse.  One  hairdresser  had  for 
sign  :  "  I  shave  the  clergy  ;  I  comb  the  nobility  ;  I  ar- 
range the  Third  Estate.  " 

People  went  to  have  their  fortunes  told  by  Martin,  at 
No.  173,  in  the  Eue  d'Anjou,  formerly  Eue  Dauphine. 
There  was  a  lack  of  bread,  of  coals,  of  soap.  Herds  of 
milch-cows  might  be  seen  coming  in  from  the  country. 
At  the  Vallée,  lamb  sold  for  fifteen  francs  the  pound. 
An  order  of  the  Commune  assigned  a  pound  of  meat  per 
head  every  ten  days.  People  stood  in  rank  at  the  doors 
of  the  butchers'  shops.  One  of  these  files  has  remained 
famous  :  it  reached  from  a  grocer's  shop  in  the  Eue  du 
Petit  Carreau  to  the  middle  of  the  Eue  Montorgueil.  To 
form  a  line  was  called  "  holding  the  cord,"  from  a  long 
rope  which  was  held  in  the  hands  of  those  standing  in  the 
row.  Amid  this  wretchedness,  the  women  were  brave 
and  mild  :  they  passed  entire  nights  awaiting  their  turn 
to  get  into  the  bakers'  shops.  The  Eevolution  resorted 
to  expedients  which  were  successful  ;  she  alleviated  this 
widespread  distress  by  two  perilous  means,  —  the  as- 
signat and  the  maximum.  The  assignat  was  the  lever, 
the  maximum  was  the  fulcrum.  This  empiricism  saved 
France.  The  enemy,  whether  of  Coblentz  or  London,  gam- 
bled in  assignats.  Girls  came  and  went,  offering  laven- 
der water,  garters,  false  hair,  and  selling  stocks.  There 
•vere  jobbers  on  the  Perron  of  the  Eue  Vi vienne,  with 


THE   STREETS  OF  PARIS  AT  THAT  TIME.  121 

muddy  shoes,  greasy  hair,  and  fur  caps  decorated  with 
fox-tails,  and  there  were  swells  from  the  Eue  Valois, 
with  varnished  boots,  toothpicks  in  their  mouths,  and 
long-napped  hats  on  their  heads,  to  whom  the  girls  said 
"  theê"  and  "  thou.  "  Later,  the  people  gave  chase  to  them 
as  they  did  to  the  thieves,  whom  the  royalists  styled 
a  active  citizens.  "  For  the  time,  theft  was  rare.  There 
reigned  a  terrible  destitution  and  a  stoical  probity.  The 
barefooted  and  the  starving  passed  with  lowered  eyelids 
before  the  jewellers'  shops  of  the  Palais  Égalité.  Dur- 
ing a  domiciliary  visit  that  the  Section  Antoine  made 
to  the  house  of  Beaumarchais,  a  woman  picked  a  flower 
in  the  garden  ;  the  crowd  boxed  her  ears.  Wood  cost 
four  hundred  francs  in  coin  per  cord  ;  people  could  be 
seen  in  the  streets  sawing  up  their  bedsteads.  In  the 
winter  the  fountains  were  frozen  ;  two  pails  of  water 
cost  twenty  sous  :  every  man  made  himself  a  water-car- 
rier. A  gold  louis  was  worth  three  thousand  nine  hun- 
dred and  fifty  francs.  A  course  in  a  hackney-coach  cost 
six  hundred  francs.  After  a  day's  use  of  a  carriage, 
this  sort  of  dialogue  might  be  heard  :  "  Coachman,  how 
much  do  I  owe  you  ?  *  "  Six  thousand  francs.  "  A 
green-grocer  woman  sold  twenty  thousand  francs'  worth 
of  vegetables  a  day.  A  beggar  said,  "  Help  me,  in  the 
name  of  charity  !  I  lack  two  hundred  and  thirty  francs 
to  finish  paying  for  my  shoes.  "  At  the  ends  of  the 
bridges  might  be  seen  colossal  figures  sculptured  and 
painted  by  David,  which  Mercier  insulted.  "  Enormous 
wooden  Punches  !  "  said  he.  The  gigantic  shapes  sym- 
bolized Federalism  and  Coalition  overturned. 

There  was  no  faltering  among  this  people.  There  was 
,the  sombre  joy  of  having  made  an  end  of  thrones.  Vol- 
unteers abounded  ;  each  street  furnished  a  battalion. 
The  flags  of  the  districts  came  and  went,  every  one  with 
its   device.     On   the   banner   of  the  Capuchin  district 


122  NINETY-THREE. 

could  be  read,  "  Nobody  can  cut  our  beards.  *  On  an- 
other, "  No  other  nobility  than  that  of  the  heart.  "  On 
all  the  walls  were  placards,  large  and  small,  white,  yel- 
low, green,  red,  printed  and  written,  on  which  might 
be  read  this  motto  :  "  Long  live  the  Eepublic  !  "  The 
little  children  lisped  "  Ça  ira.  " 

These  children  were  in  themselves  the  great  future. 

Later,  to  the  tragical  city  succeeded  the  cynical  city. 
The  streets  of  Paris  have  offered  two  revolutionary  as- 
pects entirely  distinct,  —  that  before  and  that  after  the 
9th  Thermidor.  The  Paris  of  Saint- Just  gave  place  to 
the  Paris  of  Tallien.  Such  antitheses  are  perpetual; 
after  Sinai  the  Courtille  appeared. 

An  attack  of  public  madness  made  its  appearance.  It 
had  already  been  seen  eighty  years  before.  The  people 
came  out  from  under  Louis  XIV.  as  they  did  from  un- 
der Eobespierre,  with  a  great  need  to  breathe  ;  hence 
the  regency  which  opened  that  century  and  the  direc- 
tory which  closed  it,  — two  saturnalia  after  two  terror- 
isms. France  snatched  the  wicket-key  and  got  beyond 
the  Puritan  cloister  just  as  it  did  beyond  that  of  monar- 
chy, with  the  joy  of  a  nation  that  escapes. 

After  the  9th  Thermidor  Paris  was  gay,  but  with  an 
insane  gaiety.  An  unhealthy  joy  overflowed  all  bounds. 
To  the  frenzy  for  dying  succeeded  the  frenzy  for  liv- 
ing, and  grandeur  eclipsed  itself,  They  had  a  Trimal- 
cion,  calling  himself  Grimod  de  la  Keynière  :  there  was 
the  "  Almanac  of  the  Gourmands.  "  People  dined  in  the 
entresols  of  the  Palais  Eoyal  to  the  din  of  orchestras  of 
women  beating  drums  and  blowing  trumpets  ;  the  "  riga- 
dooner  "  reigned,  bow  in  hand.  People  supped  Oriental 
fashion  at  Méot's  surrounded  by  perfumes.  The  artist 
Boze  painted  his  daughters,  innocent  and  charming 
heads  of  sixteen,  en  guillotinées;  that  is  to  say,  with 
bare  necks  and  red  shifts.      To  the  wild  dances  in  the 


THE  STREETS  OF  PARIS  AT  THAT  TIME.  123 

mined  churches  succeeded  the  balls  of  Ruggieri,  of 
Luquet-Wenzel,  Mauduit,  and  the  Montansier  ;  to  grave 
citizenesses  making  lint  succeeded  sultanas,  savages, 
nymphs  ;  to  the  naked  feet  of  the  soldiers  covered  with 
blood,  dust,  and  mud,  succeeded  the  naked  feet  of 
women  decorated  with  diamonds.  At  the  same  time, 
with  shamelessness,  improbity  reappeared;  and  it  had 
its  purveyors  in  high  ranks,  and  their  imitators  among 
the  class  below.  A  swarm  of  sharpers  filled  Paris,  and 
every  man  was  forced  to  guard  well  his  tuc,  —  that  is, 
his  pocket-book.  One  of  the  amusements  of  the  day 
was  to  go  to  the  Palace  of  Justice  to  see  the  female 
thieves  ;  it  was  necessary  to  tie  fast  their  petticoats. 
At  the  doors  of  the  theatres  the  street  boys  opened  cab 
doors,  saying,  "  Citizen  and  citizeness,  there  is  room  for 
two.  "  The  *  Old  Cordelier  "  and  the  "  Friend  of  the 
People  "  were  no  longer  sold.  In  their  places  were  cried 
"Punch's  Letter"  and  the  "Rogues'  Petition."  The 
Marquis  de  Sade  presided  at  the  Section  of  the  Pikes, 
Place  Vendôme.  The  reaction  was  jovial  and  ferocious. 
The  Dragons  of  Liberty  of  '92  were  reborn  under  the 
name  of  the  Chevaliers  of  the  Dagger.  At  the  same 
time  there  appeared  in  the  booths  that  type,  Jocrisse. 
There  were  "  the  Merveilleuses,  "  and  in  advance  of  these 
feminine  marvels  came  "  the  Incroyables.  "  People  swore 
by  strange  and  affected  oaths  ;  they  jumped  back  from 
Mirabeau  to  Bobèche.  Thus  it  is  that  Paris  sways  back 
and  forth;  it  is  the  enormous  pendulum  of  civilization; 
it  touches  either  pole  in  turn, —  Thermopylae  and  Gomor- 
rah. After  '93  the  Revolution  traversed  a  singular  oc- 
cultation ;  the  century  seemed  to  forget  to  finish  that 
which  it  had  commenced.  A  strange  orgy  interposed 
itself,  took  the  foreground,  swept  back  to  the  second 
place  the  awful  Apocalypse,  veiled  the  immeasurable 
vision,   and   laughed   aloud  after  its   fright.     Tragedy 


124  NINETY-THREE. 

disappeared  in  parody,  and,  rising  darkly  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  horizon,  a  smoke  of  carnival  effaced  Medusa. 
Bat  in  '93,  where  we  are,  the  streets  of  Paris  still 
wore  the  grandiose  and  savage  aspect  of  the  beginning. 
They  had  their  orators,  such  as  Varlet,  who  promenaded 
in  a  booth  on  wheels,  from  the  top  of  which-  he  harangued 
the  passers-by  ;  they  had  their  heroes,  of  whom  one  was 
called  the  "  Captain  of  the  iron-pointed  sticks  ;  "  their 
favourites,  among  whom  ranked  Guffroy,  the  author  of 
the  pamphlet  "  Kougiff.  "  Certain  of  these  popularities 
were  mischievous,  others  had  a  healthy  tone  ;  one 
among  them  all  was  honest  and  fatal,  —  it  was  that  of 
Cimourdam. 


CHAPTEK  IL 

# 

CIMOUEDAIN. 

CIMOUEDAIN"  had  a  conscience  pure  but  sombre. 
There  was  something  of  the  absolute  within  him. 
He  had  been  a  priest,  which  is  a  grave  matter.  A  man 
may,  like  the  sky,  possess*  a  serenity  which  is  dark  and 
unfathomable  ;  it  only  needs  that  something  should  have 
made  night  within  his  soul.  The  priesthood  had  made 
night  in  that  of  Cimourdain.  He  who  has  been  a  priest 
remains  one. 

What  makes  night  within  us  may  leave  stars.  Cimour- 
dain was  full  of  virtues  and  verities,  but  they  shone 
among  shadows. 

His  history  is  easily  written.  He  had  been  a  village 
curate,  and  tutor  in  a  great  family  ;  then  he  inherited  a 
small  legacy,  and  gained  his  freedom. 

He  was  above  all  an  obstinate  man.  He  made  use  of 
meditation  as  one  does  of  pincers  ;  he  did  not  think  it 
right  to  quit  an  idea  until  he  had  followed  it  to  the 
end  ;  he  thought  stubbornly.  He  understood  all  the 
European  languages,  and  something  of  others  besides. 
This  man  studied  incessantly,  which  aided  him  to  bear 
the  burden  of  celibacy  ;  but  nothing  can  be  more  dan- 
gerous than  such  a  life  of  repression. 

He  had  from  pride,  chance,  or  loftiness  of  soul  been 
true  to  his  vows,  but  he  had  not  been  able  to  guard  his 
belief.  Science  had  demolished  faith  ;  dogma  had  fainted 
within  him.     Then,  as  he  examined  himself,  he  felt  that 


126  NINETY-THREE. 

his  soul  was  mutilated  ;  he  could  not  nullify  his  priestly 
oath,  but  tried  to  remake  himself  man,  though  in  an 
austere  fashion.  His  family  had  been  taken  from  him  ; 
he  adopted  his  country.  A  wife  had  been  refused  him  ; 
he  espoused  humanity.  Such  vast  plenitude  has  a  void 
at  bottom. 

His  peasant  parents,  in  devoting  him  to  the  priest- 
hood, had  desired  to  elevate  him  above  the  common 
people  ;  he  voluntarily  returned  among  them. 

He  went  back  with  a  passionate  energy.  He  regarded 
the  suffering  with  a  terrible  tenderness.  From  priest 
he  had  become  philosopher;  and  from  philosopher,  ath- 
lete. While  Louis  XV.  still  lived,  Cimourdain  felt 
himself  vaguely  republican.  But  belonging  to  what  re- 
public ?  To  that  of  Plato  perhaps,  and  perhaps  also  to 
the  republic  of  Draco. 

Forbidden  to  love,  he  set  himself  to  hate.  He  hated 
lies,  monarchy,  theocracy,  his  garb  of  priest;  he  hated 
the  present,  and  he  called  aloud  to  the  future  ;  he  had  a 
presentiment  of  it,  he  caught  glimpses  of  it  in  advance  ; 
he  pictured  it  awful  and  magnificent.  In  his  view,  to 
end  the  lamentable  wretchedness  of  humanity  required 
at  once  an  avenger  and  a  liberator.  He  worshipped  the 
catastrophe  afar  off. 

In  1789  this  catastrophe  arrived,  and  found  him  ready. 
Cimourdain  flung  himself  into  this  vast  plan  of  human 
regeneration  on  logical  grounds,  —  that  is  to  say,  for  a 
mind  of  his  mould,  inexorably  ;  logic  knows  no  softening. 
He  lived  among  the  great  revolutionary  years,  and  felt 
the  shock  of  their  mighty  breaths, —  '89,  the  fall  of  the 
Bastille,  the  end  of  the  torture  of  the  people  ;  on  the  4th 
of  August,  '90,  the  end  of  feudalism;  '91,  Varennes,  the 
end  of  royalty;  '92,  the  birth  of  the  Eepublic.  He  saw 
the  Eevolution  loom  into  life  ;  he  was  not  a  man  to  be 
afraid  of  that  giant,  —  far  from  it.     This  sudden  growth 


CIMOURDAIN.  127 

în  everything  had  revivified  him;  and  though  already 
nearly  old,  —  he  was  fifty,  and  a  priest  ages  faster  than 
another  man,  —  he  began  himself  to  grow  also.  From 
year  to  year  he  saw  events  gain  in  grandeur,  and  he  in- 
creased with  them.  He  had  at  first  feared  that  the 
Eevolution  would  prove  abortive  ;  he  watched  it.  It  had 
reason  and  right  on  its  side  ;  he  demanded  success  for  it 
likewise.  In  proportion  to  the  fear  it  caused  the  timid," 
his  confidence  strengthened.  He  desired  that  this  Mi- 
nerva, crowned  with  the  stafs  of  the  future,  should  be 
Pallas  also,  with  the  Gorgon's  head  for  buckler.  He 
demanded  that  her  divine  glance  should  be  able  at  need 
to  fling  back  to  the  demons  their  infernal  glare,  and  give 
them  terror  for  terror. 

Thus  he  reached  '93. 

'93  was  the  war  of  Europe  against  France,  and  of 
France  against  Paris.  And  what  was  the  Eevolution  ? 
It  was  the  victory  of  France  over  Europe,  and  of  Paris 
over  France.  Hence  the  immensity  of  that  terrible  mo- 
ment, '93,  —  grander  than  all  the  rest  of  the  century. 
Nothing  could  be  more  tragic  :  Europe  attacking  France, 
and  France  attacking  Paris  î  A  drama  which  reaches 
the  stature  of  an  epic.  '93  is  a  year  of  intensity.  The 
tempest  is  there  in  all  its  wrath  and  all  its  grandeur. 
Cimourdain  felt  himself  at  home.  This  distracted  cen- 
tre, terrible  and  splendid,  suited  the  span  of  his  wings. 
Like  the  sea-eagle  amid  the  tempest,  this  man  preserved 
his  internal  composure  and  enjoyed  the  danger.  Certain 
winged  natures,  savage  yet  calm,  are  made  to  battle  the 
winds,  —  souls  of  the  tempest  :  such  exist. 

He  had  put  pity  aside,  reserving  it  only  for  the 
wretched.  He  devoted  himself  to  those  sorts  of  suffer- 
ing which  cause  horror.  Nothing  was  repugnant  to 
him.  That  was  his  kind  of  goodness.  He  was  divine 
in  his  readiness  to  succour  what  was   loathsome.      He 


128  NINETY-THREE. 

searched  for  ulcers  in  order  that  he  might  kiss  them. 
Noble  actions  with  a  revolting  exterior  are  the  most 
difficult  to  undertake  ;  he  preferred  such.  One  day  at 
the  Hôtel  Dieu  a  man  was  dying,  suffocated  by  a  tumour 
in  the  throat,  —  a  fetid,  frightful  abscess,  —  contagious 
perhaps,  — which  must  be  at  once  opened.  Cimourdain 
was  there  ;  he  put  his  lips  to  the  tumour,  sucked  it, 
spitting  it  out  as  his  mouth  filled,  and  so  emptied  the 
abscess  and  saved  the  man.  As  he  still  wore  his  priest's 
dress  at  the  time,  some  one  said  to  him,  "  If  you  were 
to  do  that  for  the  king,  you  would  be  made  a  bishop.  " 
"  I  would  not  do  it  for  the  king,  "  Cimourdain  replied. 
The  act  and  the  response  rendered  him  popular  in  the 
sombre  quarters  of  Paris. 

They  gave  him  so  great  a  popularity  that  he  could 
do  what  he  liked  with  those  who  suffered,  wept,  and 
threatened.  At  the  period  of  the  public  wrath  against 
monopolists, —  a  wrath  which  was  prolific  in  mistakes, — 
Cimourdain  by  a  word  prevented  the  pillage  of  a  boat 
loaded  with  soap  at  the  quay  Saint  Nicholas,  and  dis- 
persed the  furious  bands  who  were  stopping  the  carriages 
at  the  barrier  of  Saint  Lazare. 

It  was  he  who,  two  days  after  the  10th  of  August, 
headed  the  people  to  overthrow  the  statues  of  the  kings. 
They  slaughtered  as  they  fell  :  in  the  Place  Vendôme,  a 
woman  called  Keine  Violet  was  crushed  by  the  statue  of 
Louis  XIV. ,  about  whose  neck  she  had  put  a  cord,  which 
she  was  pulling.  This  statue  of  Louis  XIV.  had  been 
standing  a  hundred  years.  It  was  erected  the  12th  of 
August,  1692  ;  it  was  overthrown  the  12th  of  August, 
1792.  In  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  a  certain  Guin- 
guerlot.  was  butchered  on  the  pedestal  of  Louis  XV.  's 
statue  for  having  called  the  demolishers  scoundrels. 
The  statue  was  broken  in  pieces.  Later,  it  was  melted 
to  coin,  —  into  sous.      The  arm  alone  escaped,  — ■  it  was 


IJIMOURDAIISL  129 

the  right  arm,  which  was  extended  with  ^he  gesture  ot 
a  Soman  emperor.  At  Cimourdain's  request  the  people 
sent  a  deputation  with  this  arm  to  Latude,  the  man  who 
had  been  thirty- seven  years  buried  in  the  Bastille. 
When  Latude  was  rotting  alive,  the  collar  on  his 
neck,  the  chain  about  his  loins,  in  the  bottom  of  that 
prison  where  he  had  been  cast  by  the  order  of  thatf 
king  whose  statue  overlooked  Paris,  who  could  have 
prophesied  to  him  that  this  prison  would  fall,  this 
statue  would  be  destroyed  ;  that  he  would  emerge 
from  the  sepulchre  and  monarchy  enter  it  ;  that  he, 
the  prisoner,  would  be  the  master  of  this  hand  of 
bronze  which  had  signed  his  warrant;  and  that  of 
this  king  of  Mud  there  would  remain  only  his  brazen 
arm  ?  v  ' 

Cimourdain  was  one  of  those  men  who  have  an  interior 
voice  to  which  they  listen.  Such  men  seem  absent- 
minded  ;  no,  they  are  attentive. 

Cimourdain  was  at  once  learned  and  ignorant.  He 
understood  all  science,  and  was  ignorant  of  everything 
in  regard  to  life.  Hence  his  severity.  He  had  his  eyes 
bandaged,  like  the  Themis  of  Homer.  He  had  the 
•blind  certainty  of  the  arrow,  which,  seeing  not  the  goal, 
yet  goes  straight  to  it.  In  a  revolution  there  is  nothing 
so  formidable .  as  a  straight  line.  Cimourdain  went 
straight  before  him,  fatal,   unwavering. 

He  believed  that  in  a  social  Genesis  the  farthest  point 
is  the  solid  ground,  —  an  error  peculiar  to  minds  which 
replace  reason  by  logic.  He  went  beyond  the  Conven- 
tion ;  he  went  beyond  the  Commune  ;  he  belonged  to 
the  Évêché. 

The  society  called  the  Évêché,  because  its  meetings 
were  held  in  a  hall  of  the  former  episcopal  palace,  was 
rather  a  complication  of  men  than  a  union.  There,  as 
at  the  Commune,  those  silent  bat  significant  spectators 


130  NINETY-THREE. 

were  present  who,  as  Garat  said,   "  had  as  many  pistols 
as  pockets.  " 

The  Évêché  was  a  strange  mixture,  — a  crowd  at  once 
cosmopolitan  and  Parisian.  This  is  no  contradiction, 
for  Paris  is  the  spot  where  beats  the  heart  of  the  peoples. 
The  great  plebeian  incandescence  was  at  the  Évêché.  In 
comparison  to  it,  the  Convention  was  cold  and  the  Com- 
mune lukewarm.  The  Évêché  was  one  of  those  revolu- 
tionary formations  similar  to  volcanic  ones  ;  it  contained 
everything,  —  ignorance,  stupidity,  probity,  heroism, 
choler,  spies.  Brunswick  had  agents  there.  It  num- 
bered men  worthy  of  Sparta,  and  men  who  deserved 
the  galleys.  The  greater  part  were  mad  and  honest. 
The  Gironde  had  pronounced  by  the  mouth  of  Isnard, 
temporary  president  of  the  Convention,  this  monstrous 


"Take  care,  Parisians  !  There  will  not  remain  one  stone 
upon  another  of  your  city,  and  the  day  will  come  when  the 
place  where  Paris  stood  shall  be  searched  for." 

This  speech  created  the  Evêché.  Certain  men  —  and 
as  we  have  just  said,  they  were  men  of  all  nations  — 
felt  the  need  of  gathering  themselves  close  about  Paris. 
Cimourdain  joined  this  club. 

The  society  reacted  on  the  reactionists.  It  was  born 
out  of  that  public  necessity  for  violence  which  is  the 
formidable  and  mysterious  side  of  revolutions.  Strong 
with  this  strength,  the  Évêché  at  once  began  its  work. 
In  the  commotions  of  Paris  it  was  the  Commune  that 
fired  the  cannon  ;  it  was  the  Evêché  that  sounded  the 
tocsin. 

In  his  implacable  ingenuousness,  Cimourdain  believed 
that  everything  in  the  service  of  truth  is  justice,  which 
rendered  him  fit  to  dominate  the  extremists  on  either 
side.     Scoundrels  felt  that  he  was  honest,  and  were  satis- 


CIMOURDAIN.  131 

fied.  Crime  is  flattered  by  having  virtue  to  preside  over 
it  ;  it  is  at  once  troublesome  and  pleasant.  Palloy,  the 
architect  who  had  turned  to  account  the  demolition  of 
the  Bastille,  selling  its  stones  to  his  own  profit,  and  who, 
appointed  to  whitewash  the  cell  of  Louis  XVI.,  in  his 
zeal  covered  the  wall  with  bars,  chain's,  and  iron  rings  ; 
Gonchon,  the  suspected  orator  of  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Antoine,  whose  quittances  were  afterward  found  ;  Four- 
nier,  the  American,  who  on  the  17th  of  July  fired  at 
Lafayette  a  pistol-shot^  paid  for,  it  is  said,  by  Lafayette 
himself  ;  Henriot,  who  had  come  out  of  Bicêtre,  and  who 
had  been  valet,  mountebank,  robber,  and  spy  before  be- 
ing a  general  and  turning  the  guns  on  the  Convention  ; 
La  Keynie.  formerly  grand-vicar  of  Chartres,  who  had 
replaced  his  breviary  by  "  The  Père  Duchesne,  "  —  all 
these  men  were  held  in  respect  by  Cimourdain  ;  and  at 
certain  moments,  to  keep  the  worst  of  them  from  stum- 
bling, it  was  sufficient  to  feel  his  redoubtable  and  be- 
lieving candour  as  a  judgment  before  them.  It  was 
thus  that  Saint-Just  terrified  Schneider.  At  the  same 
time  the  majority  of  the  Évêché,  composed  principally 
as  it  was  of  poor  and  violent  men  who  were  honest,  be- 
lieved in  Cimourdain  and  followed  him.  He  had  for 
curate  or  aide-de-camp,  as  you  please,  that  other  repub- 
lican priest,  Dan j ou,  whom  the  people  loved  on  account 
of  his  height,  and  had  christened  Abbé  Six-Foot. 
Cimourdain  could  have  led  where  he  would  that  intrepid 
chief  called  General  La  Pique,  and  that  bold  Truchon 
named  the  Great  Nicholas,  who  had  tried  to  save  Ma- 
dame de  Lamballe,  and  had  given  her  his  arm,  and  made 
her  spring  over  the  corpses,  —  an  attempt  which  would 
have  succeeded,  had  it  not  been  for  the  ferocious  pleas- 
antry of  the  barber  Chariot. 

The  Commune  watched  the  Convention  :  the  Ëvêché 
watched  the  Commune.      Cimourdain,  naturally  upright 


132  NINETY-THREE. 

and  detesting  intrigue,  had  broken  more  than  one  my& 
terious  thread  in  the  hand  of  Pache,  whom  Beurnonvilie 
called  "  the  black  man.  "  Cimourdain  at  the  Évêché  was 
on  confidential  terms  with  all.  He  was  consulted  by 
Dob  sent  and  Momoro.  He  spoke  Spanish  with  Gusman, 
Italian  with  Pio,  English  with  Arthur,  Flemish  with 
Pereyra,  German  with  the  Austrian  Proly,  the  bastard 
of  a  prince.  He  created  a  harmony  between  these  dis- 
cordances. Hence  his  position  was  obscure  and  strong. 
Hébert  feared  him. 

In  these  times  and  among  these  tragic  groups,  Cimour- 
dain  possessed  the  power  of  the  inexorable.  He  was  an 
impeccable,  who  believed  himself  infallible.  No  person 
had  ever  seen  him  weep.  He  was  Virtue  inaccessible 
and  glacial.      He  was  the  terrible  offspring  of  Justice. 

There  is  no  half-way  possible  to  a  priest  in  a  revolu- 
tion. A  priest  can  only  give  himself  up  to  this  wild 
and  prodigious  chance  either  from  the  highest  or  the 
lowest  motive  ;  he  must  be  infamous  or  he  must  be  sub- 
lime. Cimourdain  was  sublime,  but  in  isolation,  in 
rugged  inaccessibility,  in  inhospitable  secretiveness, 
sublime  amid  a  circle  of  precipices.  Lofty  mountains 
possess  this  sinister  freshness. 

Cimourdain  had  the  appearance  of  an  ordinary  man, 
dressed  in  every-day  garments,  poor  in  aspect.  When 
young,  he  had  been  tonsured;  as  an  old  man  he  was 
bald.  What  little  hair  he  had  left  was  grey.  His  fore- 
head was  broad,  and  to  the  acute  observer  it  revealed 
his  character.  Cimourdain  had  an  abrupt  way  of  speak- 
ing, which  was  passionate  and  solemn  ;  his  voice  was 
quick,  his  accent  peremptory,  his  mouth  bitter  and 
sad,  his  eye  clear  and  profound,  and  over  his  whole 
countenance  an  indescribable  indignant  expression. 

Such  was  Cimourdain. 

No  one  to-day  knows  his  name.  History  has  many  of 
these  great  Unknown. 


CHAPTEK  IH 

A  CORNER   NOT  DIPPED   IN   STYX. 

WAS  such  a  man  indeed  a  man  ?  Could  the  servant 
of  the  human  race  know  fondness  ?  Was  he  not 
too  entirely  a  soul  to  possess  a  heart  ?  This  widespread 
embrace,  which  included  everything  and  everybody, 
could  it  narrow  itself  down  to  one.  Could  Cimourdain 
love?     We  answer,   Yes. 

When  youug,  and  tutor  in  an  almost  princely  family, 
he  had  had  a  pupil  whom  he  loved,  —  the  son  and  heir 
of  the  house.  It  is  so  easy  to  love  a  child.  What  can 
one  not  pardon  a  child  ?  One  forgives  him  for  being  a 
lord,  a  prince,  a  king.  The  innocence  of  his  age  makes 
one  forget  the  crime  of  race  ;  the  feebleness  of  the  crea- 
ture causes  one  to  overlook  the  exaggeration  of  rank. 
He  is  sc  little  that  one  forgives  him  for  being  great. 
The  slave  forgives  him  for  being  his  master.  The  old 
negro  idolizes  the  white  nursling.  Cimourdain  had  con- 
ceived a  passion  for  his  pupil.  Childhood  is  so  ineffable 
that  one  may  unite  all  affections  upon  it..  Cimourdain 's 
whole  power  of  loving  prostrated  itself,  so  to  speak,  be- 
fore this  boy  ;  that  sweet,  innocent  being  became  a  sort  of 
prey  for  that  heart  condemned  to  solitude.  He  loved  with 
a  mingling  of  all  tendernesses,  —  as  father,  as  brother, 
as  friend,  as  maker.  The  child  was  his  son,  not  of  his 
flesh,  but  of  his  mind.  He  was  not  the  father,  and  this 
was  not  his  work  ;  but  he  was  the  master,  and  this  his 
masterpiece.      Of  this  little  lord  he  had  made  a  man,  — 


134  NINETY-THREE. 

perhaps  a  great  man  ;  who  knows  ?  Such  are  dreams* 
Has  one  need  of  the  permission  of  a  family  to  create  an 
intelligence,  a  will,  an  upright  character.  He  had 
communicated  to  the  young  viscount,  his  scholar,  all 
the  advanced  ideas  which  he  held  himself  ;  he  had  in- 
oculated him  with  the  redoubtable  virus  of  his  virtue  ; 
he  had  infused  into  his  veins  his  own  convictions,  his 
own  conscience  and  ideal, —  into  this  brain  of  an  aristo- 
crat he  had  poured  the  soul  of  the  people. 

The  spirit  suckles  ;  the  intelligence  is  a  breast.  There 
is  an  analogy  between  the  nurse  who  gives  her  milk  and 
the  preceptor  who  gives  his  thought.  Sometimes  the 
tutor  is  more  father  than  is  the  father,  just  as  often  the 
nurse  is  more  mother  than  the  mother. 

This  deep  spiritual  paternity  bound  Cimourdain  to  his 
pupil.      The  very  sight  of  the  child  softened  him. 

Let  us  add  this  :  to  replace  the  father  was  easy,  —  the 
boy  no  longer  had  one.  He  was  an  orphan  ;  his  father 
and  mother  were  both  dead.  To  keep  watch  over  feim 
he  had  only  a  blind  grandmother  and  an  absent  great- 
uncle.  The  grandmother  died  ;  the  great-uncle,  head  of 
the  family,  a  soldier  and  a  man  of  high  rank,  provided 
with  appointments  at  Court,  avoided  the  old  family  dun- 
geon, lived  at  Versailles,  went  forth  with  the  army,  and 
left  the  orphan  alone  in  the  solitary  castle.  So  the  pre- 
ceptor was  master  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

Let  us  add  still  further:  Cimourdain  had  seen  the 
child  born.  The  boy,  while  very  little,  was  seized  with 
a  severe  illness.  In  this  peril  of  death  Cimourdain 
watched  day  and  night.  It  is  the  physician  who  pre- 
scribes, it  is  the  nurse  who  saves  ;  and  Cimourdain  saved 
the  child.  Not  only  did  his  pupil  owe  to  him  educa- 
tion, instruction,  science,  but  he  owed  him  also  conva- 
lescence and  health;  not  only  did  his  pupil  owe  him 
the  development  of  his  mind,  he  owed  him  life  itself, 


•A.  CORNER   NOT   DIPPED   IN  STYX.  135 

We  worship  those  who  owe  us  all  ;  Cimourdain  adored 
this  child. 

.  The  natural  separation  came  about  at  length.  The 
education  completed,  Cimourdain  was  obliged  to  quit 
the  boy,  grown  to  a  young  man.  With  what  cold  and 
unconscionable  cruelty  these  separations  are  insisted 
upon!  How  tranquilly  families  dismiss  the  preceptor, 
who  leaves  his  spirit  in'  a  child,  and  the  nurse,  who 
leaves  her  heart's  blood! 

Cimourdain,  paid  and  put  aside,  went  out  of  the 
grand  world  and  returned  .to  the  sphere  below.  The 
partition  between  the  great  and  the  little  closed  again. 
The  young  lord,  an  officer  of  birth,  and  made  captain  at 
the  outset,  departed  for  some  garrison  ;  the  humble  tutor 
(already  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  an  unsubmissive 
priest,  hastened  to  go  down  again  into  that  obscure 
ground-floor  of  the  Church  occupied  by  the  under  clergy, 
and  Cimourdain  lost  sight  of  his  pupil. 

The  Eevolution  came  on  ;  the  recollection  of  that  being 
whom  he  had  made  a  man  brooded  within  him,  hidden 
but  not  extinguished  by  the  immensity  of  public  affairs. 

Tt  is  a  beautiful  thing  to  model  a  statue  and  give  it 
life  ;  to  mould  an  intelligence  and  instil  truth  therein 
is  still  more  beautiful.  Cimourdain  was  the  Pygmalion 
of  a  soul. 

The  spirit  may  own  a  child. 

This  pupil,  this  boy,  this  orphan,  was  the  sole  being 
on  earth  whom  he  loved. 

But  even  in  such  an  affection,  would  a  man  like  this 
prove  vulnerable  ? 

We  shall  see. 


BOOK    IL 

THE    PUBLIC  HOUSE  OF  THE  RUE  DU   PAOH. 


CHAPTER  L 

MINOS,  jEACUS,  and  ehadamanthus. 

THERE  was  a  public -house  in  the  Rue  du  PaoD 
which  was  called  a  café.  This  café  had  a  back 
room,  which  is  to-day  historical.  It  was  there  that 
often,  almost  secretly,  met  certain  men,  so  powerful  and 
so  constantly  watched  that  they  hesitated  to  speak  with 
one  another  in  public. 

It  was  there  that  on  the  23d  of  October,  1792,  the 
Mountain  and  the  Gironde  exchanged  their  famous  kiss. 
It  was  there  that  Garat,  although  he  does  not  admit  it 
in  his  Memoirs,  came  for  information  on  that  lugubrious 
night  when,  after  having  put  Clavière  in  safety  in  the 
Rue  de  Beaune,  he  stopped  his  carriage  on  the  Pont 
Royal  to  listen  to  the  tocsin. 

On  the  28th  of  June,  1793,  three  men  were  seated 
about  a  table  in  this  back  chamber.  Their  chairs  did 
Qot  touch  ;  they  were  placed  one  on  either  of  the  three 
sides  of  jbhe  table,  leaving  the  fourth  vacant.  It  was 
about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening;  it  was  still  light  in 
the  street,  but  dark  in  the  back  room,  and  a  lamp,  hung 
from  a  hook  in  the  ceiling,  —  a  luxury  there,  —  lighted 
the  table- 


MINOS,  ^EACUS,   AND   RHADAMANTHUS.  137 

The  first  of  these  three  men  was  pale,  young,  grave, 
with  thin  iips  and  a  cold  glance.  He  had  a  nervous 
movement  in  his  cheek,  which  must  have  made  it  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  smile.  He  wore  his  hair  powdered.  He 
was  gloved  ;  his  light-blue  coat,  well  brushed,  was  with- 
out a  wrinkle,  carefully  buttoned.  He  wore  nankeen 
breeches,  white  stockings,  a  high  cravat,  a  plaited  shirt- 
frill,  and  shoes  with  silver  buckles. 

Of  the  other  two  men,  one  was  a  species  of  giant,  the 
other  a  sort  of  dwarf.  The  tall  one  was  untidily  dressed 
in  a  coat  of  scarlet  cloth,  his  neck  bare,  his  unknotted 
cravat  falling  down  over  his  shirt-frill,  his  vest  gaping 
from  lack  of  buttons.  He  wore  top-boots;  his  hair 
stood  stiffly  up  and  was  disarranged,  though  it  still 
showed  traces  of  powder;  his  very  peruke  was  like  a 
mane.  His  face  was  marked  with  small-pox  ;  there  was 
a  choleric  line  between  his  brows  ;  a  wrinkle  that  signi- 
fied kindness  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth  ;  his  lips  were 
thick,  the  teeth  large  ;  he  had  the  fist  of  a  porter  and 
eyes  that  blazed.  The  little  one  was  a  yellow  man,  who 
looked  deformed  when  seated.  He  carried  his  head 
thrown  back  ;  the  eyes  were  injected  with  blood,  there 
were  livid  blotches  on  his  face  ;  he  had  a  handkerchief 
knotted  about  his  greasy,  straight  hair;  he  had  no  fore- 
head ;  the  mouth  was  enormous  and  horrible.  He  wore 
pantaloons  instead  of  knee-breeches,  slippers,  a  waist- 
coat which  seemed  originally  to  have  been  of  white 
satin,  and  over  this  a  loose  jacket,  under  whose  folds  a 
hard,  straight  line  showed  that  a  poniard  was  hidden. 

The  first  of  these  men  was  named  Eobespierre;  the 
second,  Danton  ;  the  third,  Marat. 

They  were  alone  in  the  room.  Before  Danton  was  set 
a  glass  and  a  dusty  wine-bottle,  reminding  one  of 
Luther's  pint  of  beer;  before  Marat  a  cup  of  coffee;  be- 
fore Eobespierre  only  papers. 


138  NINETY-THREE. 

Near  the  papers  stood  one  of  those  heavy,  round- 
ridged,  leaden  ink-stands  which  will  be  remembered  by 
men  who  were  school-boys  at  the  beginning  of  this  cen- 
tury. A  pen  was  thrown  carelessly  by  the  side  of  the 
inkstand.  On  the  papers  lay  a  great  brass  seal,  on 
which  could  be  read  Palloy  fecit,  and  which  was  a  per- 
fect miniature  model  of  the  Bastille. 

Ai  map  of  France  was  spread  in  the  middle  of  the 
table.  Outside  the  door  was  stationed  Marat's  "  watch- 
dog, "  —  a  certain  Laurent  Basse,  porter  of  No.  18,  Eue  des 
Cordeliers,  who,  some  fifteen  days  after  this  28th  of 
June,  say  the  13th  of  July,  was  to  deal  a  blow  with  a 
chair  on  the  head  of  a  woman  named  Charlotte  Corday, 
at  this  moment  vaguely  dreaming  in  Caen.  Laurent 
Basse  was  the  proof-carrier  of  the  "  Friend  of  the  Peo- 
ple. "  Brought  this  evening  by  his  master  to  the  café  of 
the  Eue  du  Paon,  he  had  been  ordered  to  keep  the  room 
closed  where  Marat,  Danton,  and  Eobespierre  were 
seated,  and  to  allow  no  person  to  enter  unless  it  might 
be  some  member  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  the 
Commune,  or  the  Evêché. 

Eobespierre  did  not  wish  to  shut  the  door  against 
Saint- Just  ;  Danton  did  not  want  it  closed  against  Pache  ; 
Marat  would  not  shut  it  against  Gusman. 

The  conference  had  already  lasted  a  long  time.  It 
was  in  reference  to  papers  spread  on  the  table,  which 
Eobespierre  had  read.  The  voices  began  to  grow  louder. 
Symptoms  of  anger  arose  between  these  three  men. 
From  without,  eager  words  could  be  caught  at  moments. 
At  that  period  the  example  of  the  public  tribunals 
seemed  to  have  created  the  right  to  listen  at  doors.  It 
was  the  time  when  the  copying-clerk  Fabricius  Paris 
looked  through  the  keyhole  at  the  proceedings  of  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety, —  a  feat  which,  be  it  said  by 
the  way,  was  nofr "without  its  use  ;  for  it  was  this  Paris 


MINOS,  ^EACUS,  AND   RHADAMANTHUS.  139 

who  warned  Danton  -on  the  night  before  the  31st  of 
March,  1794.  Laurent  Basse  had  his  ear  to  the  door  of 
the  back  room  where  Danton,  Marat,  and  Eobespierre 
were.  Laurent  Basse  served  Marat,  but  he  belonged  to 
the  Évêché. 


CHAPTEK  IL 

MAGNA  TESTANTUR   VOCE   PER  UMBRAS. 

DANTON  had  just  risen  and  pushed  his  chair  hastily 
back. 

"  Listen  !  "  he  cried.  "  There  is  only  one  thing  im- 
minent, —  the  peril  of  the  Eepublic.  I  only  know  one 
thing,  — ■  to  deliver  France  from  the  enemy.  To  accom- 
plish that,  all  means  are  fair,  —  all  !  all  !  all  !  When 
I  have  to  deal  with  a  combination  of  dangers,  I  have 
recourse  to  every  or  any  expedient;  when  I  fear  all,  I 
have  all.  My  thought  is  a  lioness.  No  half-measures. 
No  squeamishness  in  resolution.  Nemesis  is  not  a  con- 
ceited prude.  Let  us  be  terrible  and  useful.  Does  the 
elephant  stop  to  look  where  he  sets  his  foot  ?  We  must 
crush  the  enemy  !  " 

Eobespierre  replied  mildly,  — 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad.  " 

And  he  added, — 

"  The  question  is  to  know  where  the  enemy  is.  " 

"  Tt  is  outside,  and  I  have  chased  it  there,  "  said 
Danton. 

"  It  is  within,  and  Ï  watch  it,  "  said  Eobespierre. 

"  And  I  will  continue  to  pursue  it,  "  resumed  Danton. 

"  One  does  not  drive  away  an  internal  enemy.  " 

"What,  then,  do  you  do?" 

*  Exterminate  it.  " 

"  T  agree  to  that,  "  said  Danton  in  his  turn. 

Then  he  continued,  — 


MAGNA    TESTANTUR   VOCE   PER    UMBRAS.  141 

"  I  tell  you  Robespierre,  it  is  without.  * 

"  Danton,  I  tell  you  it  is  within.  " 

"  Robespierre,  it  is  on  the  frontier.  " 

"  Danton,  it  is  in  Vendée.  " 

"  Calm  yourselves,  "  said  a  third  voice.  "  It  is  every  ^ 
where,  and  you  are  lost.  " 

It  was  Marat  who  spoke. 

Robespierre  looked  at  him  and  anwered  tranquilly. 
15  Truce  to  generalities.    I  particularize.    Here  are  facts.  ': 

"  Pedant  !  "  grumbled  Marat. 

Robespierre  laid  his  hand  on  the  papers  spread  before 
him,  and  continued, — 

"  I  have  just  read  you  the  dispatches  from  Prieur,  of 
the  Marne.  I  have  just  communicated  to  you  the  in^ 
formation  given  by  that  Gélambre.  Danton,  listen  !  The 
foreign  war  is  nothing  ;  the  civil  war  is  all.  The  for- 
eign war  is  a  scratch  that  one  gets  on  the  elbow;  civil 
war  is  the  ulcer  which  eats  up  the  liver.  This  is  the 
result  of  what  I  have  been  reading  :  The  Vendée,  up  to 
this  day  divided  between  several  chiefs,  is  concentrating 
herself.     Henceforth  she  will  have  one  sole  captain  —  " 

"  A  central  brigand,"  murmured  Danton.^ 

"  Who  is,  "  pursued  Robespierre,  "  the  man  that  landed 
near  Pontorson  on  the  2d  of  June.  You  have  seen  who 
he  was.  Remember  this  landing  coincides  with  the 
arrest  of  the  acting  Representatives,  Prieur,  of  the  Côte- 
d'Or,  and  Romme,  at  Bay  eux,  by  the  traitorous  district  of 
Calvados,  the  2d  of  June,  —  the  same  day.  " 

"  And  their  transfer  to  the  castle  of  Caen,  "  said 
Danton. 

Robespierre  resumed, — 

"  I  continue  my  summing  up  of  the  dispatches.  The 
war  of  the  Woods  is  organizing  on  a  vast  scale.  At  the 
same  time,  an  English  invasion  is  preparing, —  Vendeans 
and    English;   it  is  Briton  with  Breton.     The  Hurons 


\ 


142  NINETY-THREE. 

of  Finistère  speak  the  same  language  as  the  Topinambes 
of  Cornwall.  I  have  shown  you  an  intercepted  letter 
from  Puisaye,  in  which  it  is  said  that  '  twenty  thousand 
red-coats  distributed  among  the  insurgents  will  be  the 
means  of  raising  a  hundred  thousand  more.  '  When  the 
peasant  insurrection  is  prepared,  the  English  descent 
will  be  made.  Look  at  the  plan  ;  follow  it  on  the 
map.  " 

Eobespierre  put  his  finger  on  the  chart  and  went  on  : 

"  The  English  have  the  choice  of  landing-place  from 
Cancale  to  Paimbol.  Craig  would  prefer  the  Bay  of 
,  Saint-Brieuc  ;  Cornwallis,  the  Bay  of  Saint-Cast.  That 
is  mere  detail.  The  left  bank  of  the  Loire  is  guarded  by 
the  rebel  Vendean  army  ;  and  as  to  the  twenty-eight 
leagues  of  open  country  between  Ancenis  and  Pontorson, 
forty  Norman  parishes  have  promised  their  aid.  The 
descent  will  be  made  at  three  points,  —  Plérin,  Ifnniac, 
and  Pléneuf.  From  Plérin  they  can  go  to  Saint-Brieuc, 
and  from  Pléneuf  to  Lamballe.  The  second  day  they 
will  reach  Dinan,  where  there  are  nine  hundred  Eng- 
lish prisoners,  and  at  the  same  time  they  will  occupy 
Saint-Jouan  and  Saint-Méen  ;  they  will  leave  cavalry 
there.  On  the  third  day,  two  columns  will  march, —  the 
one  from  Jouan  on  Bedée,  the  other  from  Dinan  on 
Bêcherai,  which  is  a  natural  fortress,  and  where  they 
will  establish  two  batteries.  The  fourth  day  they  will 
reach  Rennes.  Pennes  is  the  key  of  Brittany.  Whoever 
has  Rennes  has  the  whole.  Rennes  captured,  Châteauneuf 
and  Saint-Malo  will  fall.  There  are  at  Rennes  a  million 
of  cartridges  and  fifty  artillery  field-pieces  —  " 

"  Which  they  will  sweep  off,  "  murmured  Danton. 

Robespierre  continued, — 

"  I  conclude.  From  Rennes  three  columns  will  fall,— 
the  one  on  Fougères,  the  other  on  Vitré,  the  third  on 
Redon.     As  the  bridges  are  cut,  the  enemy  will  furnish 


MAGNA  TESTANTUR   VOCE   PER   UMBRAS.  143 

themselves  —  you  have  seen  this  fact  particularly  stated 
—  with  pontoons  and  planks,  and  they  will  have  guides 
for  the  points  forclable  by  the  cavalry.  From  Fougères 
they  will  radiate  to  Avranches  ;  from  Eedon  to  Ancenis  ; 
from  Vitré  to  Laval.  Nantes  will  capitulate.  Brest 
will  yield.  Redon  opens  the  whole  extent  of  the 
Vilaine  ;  Fougères  gives  them  the  route  of  Normandy  ; 
Vitré  opens  the  route  to  Paris.  In  fifteen  days  they 
will  have  an  army  of  brigands  numbering  three  hundred 
thousand  men,  and  all  Brittany  will  belong  to  the  King 
of  France.  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  to  the  King  of  England,  "  said 
Danton. 

"  No,  to  the  King  of  France.  " 

And  Robespierre  added, — 

"  The  King  of  France  is  worse.  It  needs  fifteen  days 
to  expel  the  stranger,  and  eighteen  hundred  years  to 
eliminate  monarchy.  " 

Danton,  who  had  reseated  himself,  leaned  his  elbows 
on  the  table,  and  rested  his  head  in  his  hands  in  a 
thoughtful  attitude.      , 

"  You  see  the  peril,  "  said  Robespierre.  "  Vitré  lays 
open  to  the  English  tjie  road  to  Paris.  " 

Danton  raised  his  ,head  and  struck  his  two  great 
clinched  hands  on  the1  map  as  on  an  anvil. 

"  Robespierre,  did  not  Verdun  open  the  route  to  Paris 
to  the  Prussians  ?  " 

"  Very  well  !  " 

"  Very  well,  we  will  expel  the  English  as  we  expelled 
the  Prussians.  "     And  Danton  rose  again. 

Robespierre  laid  his0cold  hand  on  the  feverish  fist  of 
the  other. 

"  Danton,  Champagne  was  not  for  the  Prussians,  and 
Brittany  is  for  the  English.  To  retake  Verdun  was  a 
foreign  war  ;  to  retake  Vitré  will  be  civil  war.  " 


144  IMINETY-THREK 

And  Eobespierre  murmured  in  a  chill,  deep  tone,— 

"  A  serious  difference.  " 

He  added  aloud, — 

"  Sit  down  again,  Danton,  and  look  at  the  map  in- 
stead of  knocking  it  with  your  fist.  " 

But  Danton  was  wholly  given  up  to  his  own  idea. 

"  That  is  madness  3  "  cried  he,  —  "  to  look  for  the 
catastrophe  in  the  west  when  it  is  in  the  east.  Robes- 
pierre, I  grant  you  that  England  is  rising  on  the  ocean  ; 
but  Spain  is  rising  among  the  Pyrenees  ;  but  Italy  is 
rising  among  the  Alps  ;  but  Germany  is  rising  on  the 
Rhine.  And  the  great  Russian  bear  is  at  the  bottom. 
Robespierre,  the  danger  is  a  circle,  and  we  are  within  it. 
On  the  exterior,  coalition  ;  in  the  interior,  treason.  In 
the  south,  Servant  half  opens  the  door  of  France  to  the 
King  of  Spain.  At  the  north,  Dumouriez  passes  over 
to  the  enemy  ;  for  that  matter,  he  always  menaced 
Holland  less  than  Paris.  Neerwinden  blots  out  Jem- 
mapes  and  Yalmy.  The  philosopher  Rabaut  Saint- 
Étienne,  a  traitor  like  the  Protestant  he  is,  corresponds 
with  the  courtier  Montesquiou.  The  army  is  destroyed. 
There  is  not  a  battalion  that  has  more  than  four  hundred 
men  remaining  ;  the  brave  regiment  of  Deux-Ponts  is 
reduced  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  ;  the  camp  of  Pamars 
has  capitulated;  there  are  only  five  hundred  sacks  of 
flour  left  at  Givet;  we  are  falling  back  on  Landau; 
Wurmser  presses  Kléber;  Mayence  succumbs  bravely, 
Condé  cowardly.  Valencieunes  also.  But  all  that  does 
not  prevent  Chancel,  who  defends  Valenciennes,  and  old 
Féraud,  who  defends  Condé,  being  heroes,  as  well  as 
Meunier,  who  defended  Mayence.  But  all  the  rest  are 
betraying  us.  Dharville  betrays  us  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  ; 
Mouton  at  Brussels  ;  Valence  at  Bréda  ;  Neuilly  at  Lim- 
bourg  ;  Miranda  at  Maestricht,  Stingel,  traitor  :  Lanoue. 
traitor  ;    Ligonnier,    traitor  ;    Menou,    traitor  ;    Dillon. 


MAGNA  TESTANTUR  VOCE  PER  UMBRAS.  145 

traitor,  —  hideous  coin  of  Dumouriez.  We  must  make 
examples.  Custine's  countermarches  look  suspicious  to 
me.  I  suspect  Custine  of  preferring  the  lucrative  prize 
of  Frankfort  to  the  useful  capture  of  Coblentz.  Frank- 
fort can  pay  four  millions  of  war  tribute  ;  so  be  it. 
What  would  that  be  in  comparison  with  crushing  that 
nest  of  refugees  ?  Treason,  I  say.  Meunier  died  on  the 
13th  of  June.  Kléber  is  alone.  In  the  mean  time 
Brunswick  strengthens  and  advances.  He  plants  the 
German  flag  on  every  French  place  that  he  takes.  The 
Margrave  of  Brandenburg  is  to-day  the  arbiter  of  Europe  ; 
he  pockets  our  provinces  ;  he  will  adjudge  Belgium  to 
himself, —  you  will  see.  One  would  say  that  we  were 
working  for  Berlin.  If  this  continue,  and  we  do  not 
put  things  in  order,  the  French  Eevolution  will  have 
been  for  the  benefit  of  Potsdam  ;  it  will  have  accom- 
plished for  unique  result  the  aggrandizement  of  the 
little  State  of  Frederick  IL,  and  we  shall  have  killed 
the  King  of  France  for  the  King  of  Prussia's  sake.  " 

And  Danton  burst  intov  a  terrible  laugh. 

Danton' s  laugh  made  Marat  smile. 

"  You  have  each  one  your  hobby,  "  said  he.  "  Danton, 
yours  is  Prussia  ;  Robespierre,  yours  is  the  Vendée.  I 
am  going  to  state  facts  in  my  turn.  You  do  not  per- 
ceive the  real  peril  ;  it  is  this  :  The  cafés  and  the 
gaming-houses.  The  Café  Choiseul  is  Jacobin  ;  the  Café 
Pitou  is  Royalist;  the  Café  Rendez-Vous  attacks  the 
National  Guard;  the  Café  of  the  Porte  Saint  Martin 
defends  it;  the  Café  Régence  is  against  Brissot;  the 
Café  Corazza  is  for  him  ;  the  Café  Procope  swears  by 
Diderot;  the  Café  of  the  Théâtre  Français  swears  by 
Voltaire  ;  at  the  Rotunde  they  tear  up  the  assignats  ; 
the  Cafés  Saint  Marceau  are  in  a  fury;  the  Café 
Manouri  debates  the  question  of  flour  ;  at  the  Café  Foy 
uproars    and    fisticuffs;    at   the  Perron    the  hornets    of 


146  NINETY-THREE. 

the  finance  buzz.      These  are   the   matters  which  are 
serious.  " 

Danton  laughed  no  longer.    Marat  continued  to  smile. 
The  smile  of  a  dwarf  is  worse  than  the  laugh  of  a  giant. 

"  Do  you  sneer  at  yourself,  Marat  ?  "  growled  Danton. 

Marat  gave  that  convulsive  movement  of  his  hip 
which  was  celebrated.     His  smile  died. 

"  Ah,  I  recognize  you,  Citizen  Danton  !  It  is  indeed 
you  who  in  full  Convention  called  me,  'the  individual 
Marat.  '  Listen  ;  I  forgive  you.  We  are  playing  the 
fool  !  Ah  !  /  mock  at  myself  I  See  what  I  have  done  ! 
I  denounced  Chazot  ;  I  denounced  Pétion  ;  I  denounced 
Kersaint  ;  I  denounced  Moreton  ;  I  denounced  Dufriche- 
Valazé;  I  denounced  Ligonnier;  I  denounced  Menou;  I 
denounced  Banneville;  I  denounced  Gensonné;  I  de- 
nounced Biron  ;  I  denounced  Lidon  and  Chambon.  Was 
I  mistaken  ?  I  smell  treason  in  the  traitor,  and  I  find 
it  best  to  denounce  the  criminal  before  he  can  commit 
his  crime.  I  have  the  habit  of  saying  in  the  evening 
that  which  you  and  others  say  on  the  following  day.  I 
am  the  man  who  proposed  to  the  Assembly  a  perfect 
plan  of  criminal  legislation.  What  have  I  done  up  to 
the  present?  I  have  asked  for  the  instruction  of  the 
sections  in  order  to  discipline  them  for  the  Revolution  \ 
I  have  broken  the  seals  of  thirty-two  boxes  ;  I  have  re- 
claimed the  diamonds  deposited  in  the  hands  of  Roland  ; 
I  proved  that'  the  Brissotins  gave  to  the  Committee  of  the 
General  Safety  blank  warrants;  I  noted  the  omissions 
in  the  report  of  Lindet  upon  the  crimes  of  Capet;  I 
voted  the  punishment  of  the  tyrant  in  twenty-four 
hours  ;  I  defended  the  battalions  of  Mauconseil  and  the 
Républicain;  I  prevented  the  reading  of  the  letter  of 
ISkrbonne  and  of  Malonet  ;  I  made  a  motion  in  favour  of 
the  wounded  soldiers  ;  I  caused  the  suppression  of  the 
Commission  of  Six  ;  I  foresaw  the  treason  of  Dumouriez 


MAGNA   TESTANTUR   VOCE  PER  UMBRAS.  147 

in  the  affair  of  Mons  ;  I  demanded  the  taking  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  relatives  of  the  refugees  as  hostages  for 
the  commissioners  delivered  to  the  enemy  ;  I  proposed  to 
declare  traitor  any  Representative  who  should  pass  the 
barriers;  I  unmasked  the  Roland  faction  in  the  troubles 
at  Marseilles  ;  I  insisted  that  a  price  should  be  set  on 
the  head  of  Égalité  's  son  ;  I  defended  Bouchotte  ;  I 
called  for  a  nominal  appeal  in  order  to  chase  Isnard 
from  the  chair;  I  caused  it  to  be  declared  that  the 
Parisians  had  deserved  well  of  the  country.  That  is 
why  I  am  called  a  dancing-puppet  by  Louvet;  that  is 
why  Finistère  demands  my  expulsion  ;  why  the  city  of 
Loudun  desires  that  I  should  be  exiled,  the  city  of 
Amiens  that  I  should  be  muzzled  ;  why  Coburg  wishes 
me  to  be  arrested,  and  Lecointe  Puiraveau  proposes  to 
the  Convention  to  decree  me  mad.  Ah,  now,  Citizen 
Danton,  why  did  you  ask  ihe  to  come  to  your  little 
council  if  it  were  not  to  have  my  opinion  ?  Did  I  ask 
to  belong  to  it  ?  Far  from  tha't.  I  have  no  taste  for  dia- 
logues with  counter-re volutiqhists  like  Robespierre  and 
you.  For  that  matter,  I  ought  to  have  known  that  you 
would  not  understand  me,  — you  no  more  than  Robes- 
pierre; Robespierre  no  more  than  you.  So  there  is  not 
a  statesman  here  '{  You  need  to  be  taught  to  spell  at 
politics  ;  you  must  have  the  dot  put  over  the  i  for  you. 
What  I  said  to  you  meant  this  :  you  both  deceive  your- 
selves. The  danger  is  not  .in  London,  as  Robespierre 
believes  ;  nor  in  Berlin,  as  Danton  believes  :  it  is  in 
Paris.  It  consists  in  the  absence  of  unity  ;  in  the  right 
of  each  one  to  pull  on  his  own  side,  commencing  with 
you  two  ;  in  the  blinding  of  minds  ;  in  the  anarchy  of 
wills'—  " 

"  Anarchy  !  "  interrupted  Danton.  "  Who  causes  that, 
if  not  you  ?  " 

Marat  did  not  pause. 


Î48  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Robespierre,  Danton,  the  danger  is  in  this  heap  of 
cafés,  in  this  mass  of  gaming-houses,  this  crowd  of 
clubs, —  Clubs  of  the  Blacks,  the  Federals,  the  Women; 
the  Club  of  the  Impartials,  which  dates  from  Clermont- 
Tonnerre,  and  which  was  the  Monarchical  Club  of  1790, 
a  social  circle  conceived  by  the  priest  Claude  Fauché  ; 
Club  of  the  Woollen  Caps,  founded  by  the  gazetteer 
Prudhomme,  et  cœtera  ;  without  counting  your  Club  of 
the  Jacobins,  Eobespierre,  and  your  Club  of  the  Corde- 
liers Danton.  The  danger  lies  in  the  famine  which 
caused  the  sack-porter  Blin  to  hang  up  to  the  lamp  of 
the  Hôtel  de  Ville  the  baker  of  the  Market  Palu,  Fran- 
çois Denis,  and  in  the  justice  which  hung  the  sack- 
porter  Blin  for  having  hanged  the  baker  Denis.  The 
danger  is  in  the  paper  money,  which  the  people  depre- 
ciate. In  the  Rue  du  Temple  an  assignat  of  a  hundred 
francs  fell  to  the  ground,  and  a  passer-by,  a  man  of  the 
people,  said,  '  It  is  not  worth  the  pains  of  picking  it 
up.  '  The  stock-brokers  and  the  monopolists,  —  there  is 
the  danger.  To  have  nailed  the  black  flag  to  the  Hôtel 
de  Ville,  —  a  fine  advance  !  You  arrest  Baron  Trenck  ; 
that  is  not  sufficient.  I  want  this  old  prison  intriguer's 
neck  wrung.  You  believe  that  you  have  got  out  of  the 
difficulty  because  the  President  of  the  Convention  puts 
a  civic  crown  on  the  head  of  Labertèche,  who  received 
forty-one  sabre  cuts  at  Jemmapes,  and  of  whom  Chénier 
makes  himself  the  elephant  driver  ?•  Comedies  and  jug- 
gling !  Ah,  you  will  not  look  at  Paris  !  You  seek  the 
danger  at  a  distance  when  it  is  close  at  hand.  What  is 
the  use  of  your  police,  Robespierre  ?  For  you  have  your 
spies,  —  Payan  at  the  Commune,  Coffinhal  at  the  Revo- 
lutionary Tribunal,  David  at  the  Committee  of  General 
Security,  Couthon  at  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety. 
You  see  that  I  know  all  about  it.  Very  well,  learn 
this  :  the  danger  is  over  your  heads  ;  the  danger  is  under 


MAGNA  TESÏANTUR  VOCE  PER  UMBRAS.  149 

your  feet,  —  conspiracies  !  conspiracies  !  conspiracies  1 
The  people  in  the  streets  read  the  newspapers  to  one 
another  and  exchange  nods  ;  six  thousand  men,  without 
civic  papers,  returned  emigrants,  Muscadins,  and  Mathe- 
vons,  are  hidden  in  cellars  and  garrets  and  the  wooden 
galleries  of  the  Palais  Eoyal.  People  stand  in  a  row  at 
the  bakers'  shops,  the  women  stand  in  the  doorways  and 
clasp  their  hands,  crying,  '  When  shall  we  have  peace  ?  ' 
You  may  shut  yourselves  up  as  close  as  you  please  in 
the  hall  of  the  Executive  Council,  in  order  to  be  alone  : 
every  word  you  speak  is  known  ;  and  as  a  proof,  Robes- 
pierre, here  are  the  words  you  spoke  last  night  to  Saint- 
Just  :  'Barbaroux  begins  to  show  a  fat  paunch;  it  will 
be  a  trouble  to  him  in  his  flight.  '  Yes  ;  the  danger  is 
everywhere,  and  above  all  in  the  centre.  In  Paris  the 
'Retrogrades  '  plot,  while  patrols  go  barefooted  ;  the  aris- 
tocrats arrested  on  the  9th  of  March  are  already  set  at 
liberty  ;  the  fancy  horses  which'  ought  to  be  harnessed 
to  the  frontier-cannon  spatter  mud  on  us  in  the  streets  ; 
a  loaf  of  bread  weighing  four  pounds  costs  three  francs 
twelve  sous  ;  the  theatres  play  indecent  pieces  ;  and 
Eobespierre  will  presently  have  Danton  guillotined.  " 

"  Oh,  there,  there  !  "  said  Danton. 

Robespierre  attentively  studied  the  map. 

"  What  is  needed,  "  cried  Marat,  abruptly,  "  is  a  dicta- 
tor.    Robespierre,  you  know  that  I  want  a  dictator.  " 

Robespierre  raised  his  head. 

"  I  know,  Marat  ;  you  or  me."  !' 

"  Me  or,  you,  "  said  Marat. 

Danton  grumbled  between  his  teeth,' — 

"  The  dictatorship  ;  only  try  it  !  " 

Marat  caught  Danton' s  frown. 

"  Hold  !  "  he  began  again  ;  "  one  last  effort.  Let  us 
get  some  agreement.  The  situation  is  worth  the  trouble. 
Did  we  not  come  to  an  agreement  for  the   day  of  the 


150  NINETY-THREE. 

31st  of  May  ?  The  entire  question  is  a  more  serious  one 
than  that  of  Girondism,  which  was  a  question  of  detail. 
There  is  truth  in  what  you  say  ;  but  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  the  real  truth,  is  what  I  say.  In  the  south, 
Federalism  ;  in  the  west,  Eoyalism  ;  in  Paris,  the  duel 
of  the  Convention  and  the  Commune  ;  on  the  frontiers^ 
the  retreat  of  Custine  and  the  treason  of  Dumouriez. 
What  does  all  this  signify  ?  Dismemberment.  What 
is  necessary  to  us  ?  Unity.  There  is  safety  ;  but  we 
must  hasten  to  reach  it.  Paris  must  assume  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Eevolution.  If  we  lose  an  hour,  to-morrow 
the  Vendeans  may  be  at  Orleans,  and  the  Prussians  in 
Paris.  I  grant  you  this,  Danton  ;  I  accord  you  that, 
Kobespierre.  So  be  it.  Well,  the  conclusion  is  —  a 
dictatorship.  Let  us  seize  the  dictatorship,  —  we  three 
who  represent  the  Eevolution.  W^e  are  the  three  heads 
of  Cerebus.  Of  these  three  heads,  one  talks,  —  that  is 
you,  Eobespierre;  one  roars, —  that  is  you,  Danton — -  " 

"  The  other  bites,  "  said  Danton  ;  "  that  is  you, 
Marat.  " 

"  All  three  bite,  "  said  Eobespierre. 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  the  dialogue,  full  of  dark 
threats,  recommenced. 

"  Listen,  Marat  ;  before  entering  into  a  marriage,  peo- 
ple must  know  each  other.  How  did  you  learn  what  J 
said  yesterday  to  Saint- Just  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  affair,  Eobespierre.  " 

"Marat!" 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  enlighten  myself,  and  my  business 
to  inform  myself.  " 

"Marat!" 

"  I  like  to  know  things.  " 

"Marat!" 

"  Eobespierre,  I 'know  what  you  say  to  Saint- Just,  as  I 
know  what  Danton  says  to  Lacroix;   as  I  know  what 


MAGNA  TESTANTUR  VOCE  PER  UMBRAS.         151 

passes  on  the  Quay  of  the  Theatins,  at  the  Hôtel  Labriffe, 
tha  den  where  the  nymphs  of  the  emigration  meet  ;  as  I 
know  what  happens  in  the  house  of  the  Thilles,  near 
Gonesse,  which  belongs  to  Valmerange,  former  adminis- 
trator of  the  post  where  Maury  and  Cazales  went  ;  where, 
since  then,  Sieyès  and  Vergniaud  went,  and  where  now 
some  one  goes  once  a  week.  " 

In  saying  "  some  one,  "  Marat  looked  significantly  at 
Danton. 

Danton  cried, — 

"  If  I  had  two  farthings'  worth  of  power,  this  would 
be  terrible.  " 

Marat  continued, —  * 

"  I  know  what  I  am  saying  to  you,  Eobespierre,  just 
as  I  knew  what  was  going  on  in  the  Temple  tower  when 
they  fattened  Louis  XVI.  there,  so*  well  that  the  he-wolf, 
the  she-wolf,  and  the  cubs  ate  up  eighty-six  baskets  of 
peaches  in  the  month  of  September  alone.  During  that 
time  the  people  were  starving.  I  know- that,  as  I  know 
that  Roland  was  hidden  in  a  lodging  looking  on  a  back 
court,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe  ;  as  I  know  that  six  hun- 
dred of  the  pikes  of  July  14th  were  manufactured  by 
Faure,  the  Duke  of  Orleans's  locksmith  ;  as  I  know  what 
they  do  in  the  house  of  the  Saint-Hilaire,  the  mistress 
of  Sillery.  On  the  days  when  there  is  to  be  a  ball,  it  is 
old  Sillery  himself  who  chalks  the  floor  of  the  yellow 
saloon  of  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Mathurins  ;  Buzot  and 
Kersaint  dined  there.  Saladin  dined  there  on  the 
27th,  and  with  whom,  Robespierre  ?  With  your  friend 
Lasource.  " 

"  Mere  words  !  "  muttered' Robespierre.  "  Lasource  is 
not  my  friend.  " 

And  he  added  thoughtfully,— 

"  In  the  mean  while  there  are  in  London  eighteen 
manufactories  of  false  assignats." 


152  NINETY-THREE. 

Marat  went  on  in  a  voice  still  tranquil,  though  it  had 
a  slight  tremulousness  that  was  threatening, — 

"  You  are  the  faction  of  the  All-Importants  !  Yes  ;  I 
know  everything,  in  spite  of  what  Saint-Just  calls  '  the 
silence  of  State  —  '  " 

Marat  emphasized  these  last  words,  looked  at  Bobes- 
pierre,  and  continued, — 

"  I  know  what  is  said  at  your  tahle  the  days  when 
Lehas  invites  David  to  come  and  eat  the  dinner  cooked 
by  his  betrothed,  Elizabeth  Duplay, — your  future  sister- 
in-law,  Eobespierre.  I  am  the  far-seeing  '  eye  of  the 
people,  and  from  the  bottom  of  my  cave  I  watch.  Yes, 
I  see  ;  yes,  I  hear  ;  yes,  I  know  !  Little  things  content 
you.  You  admire  yourselves.  Eobespierre  poses  to  be 
contemplated  by  his  Madame  de  Chalabre,  the  daughter 
of  that  Marquis  de  Chalabre  who  played  whist  with 
Louis  XV.  the  evening  Damiens  was  executed.  Yes, 
yes  ;  heads  are  carried  high.  Saint-Just  lives  in  a 
cravat.  Legendre's  dress  is  scrupulously  correct, —  new 
frock-coat  and  white  waistcoat,  and  a  shirt-frill  to  make 
people  forget  his  apron.  Eobespierre  imagines  that  his- 
tory will  be  interested  to  know  that  he  wore  an  olive- 
coloured  frock-coat  à  la  Constituante,  and  a  sky-blue 
dress-coat  à  la  Convention.  He  has  his  portrait  hanging 
on  all  the  walls  of  his  chamber  —  " 

Eobespierre  interrupted  him  in  a  voice  even  more 
composed  than  Marat's  own:  — 

"  And  you,  Marat,  have  yours  in  all  the  sewers.  " 

They  continued  this  style  of  conversation,  in  which 
the  slowness  of  their  voices  emphasized  the  violence  of 
the  attacks  and  retorts,  and  added  a  certain  irony  to 
menace. 

"  Eobespierre,  you  have  called  those  who  desire  the 
overthrow  of  thrones  '  the  Don  Quixotes  of  the  human 


MAGNA  TESTANTUR   VOCE   PER   UMBRAS.  153 

*  And  you,  Marat,  after  the  4th  of  August,  in  No.  559 
of  the  '  Friend  of  the  People  '  (ah,  I  have  remembered 
the  number;  it  may  be  useful!),  you  demanded  that  the 
titles  of  the  nobility  should  be  restored  to  them.  You 
said,   '  A  duke  is  always  a  duke. 

"  Robespierre,  in  the  sitting  of  December  7th,  you 
defended  the  woman  Eoland  against  Viard.  " 

"  Just  as  my  brother  defended  you,  Marat,  when  you 
were  attacked  at  the  Jacobin  Club.  What  does  that 
prove  ?     Nothing  I  " 

"  Robespierre,  we  know  the  cabinet  of  the  Tuileries 
where  you  said  to  Garat  :  '  I  am  tired  of  the  Revolution  !  '  " 

"  Marat,  it  was  here,  in  this  public-house,  that,  on  the 
29th  of  October,  you  embraced  R&rbaroux.  " 

"'  Robespierre,  you  said  to  Buzot  :  '  The  Republic  ! 
What  is  that  ?  '  " 

"  Marat,  it  was  also  in  this  public-house  that  you 
invited  three  Marseillais  suspects  to  keep  you  company." 

"  Robespierre,  you  have  yourself  escorted  by  a  stout 
fellow  from  the  market,  armed  with  a  club.  " 

"  And  you,  Marat,  on  the  eve  of  the  10th  of  August 
you  asked  Buzot  to  help  you  flee  to  Marseilles  disguised 
as  a  jockey.  " 

"  During  the  prosecutions  of  September  you  hid  your- 
self,  Robespierre.  " 

"  And  you,  Marat  —  you  showed  yourself.  " 

"  Robespierre,  you  flung  the  red  cap  on  the  ground.  " 

"  Yes,  when  a  traitor  hoisted  it.  That  which  deco- 
rates Dumouriez  sullies  Robespierre.  " 

"  Robespierre,  you  refuse^  to  cover  Louis  XVI.  's  head 
with  a  veil  ivhile  soldiers  of  Chateauvieux  were  passing.  " 

"  I  did  better  than  veil  his  head  :  I  cut  it  off.  " 

Danton  interposed,  but  it  was  like  oil  flung  upon 
flames. 

"  Robespierre,  Marat,  "  said  he  ;  "  calm  yourselves.  " 


154  NINETY-THREE. 

Marat  did  not  like  being  named  the  second.  He 
turned  about. 

"  With  what  does  Danton  meddle  ?  "    he  asked. 

Danton  bounded. 

"With  what  do  I  meddle?  With  this!  That  we 
must  not  have  fratricide;  that  there  must  be  no  strife 
between  two  men  who  serve  the  people;  that  it  is 
enough  to  have  a  foreign  war  ;  that  it  is  enough  to  have 
a  civil  war  ;  that  it  would  be  too  much  to  have  a  domes- 
tic war  ;  that  it  is  I  who  have  made  the  Revolution,  and 
I  will  not  permit  it  to  be  spoiled.  Now  you  know  what 
it  is  I  meddle  with  !  " 

Marat  replied,  without  raising  his  voice, — 

"  You  had  better  meddle  with  getting  your  accounts 
ready.  " 

"  My  accounts  !  "  cried  Danton.  "  Go  ask  for  them 
in  the  defiles  of  Argonne,  in  Champagne  delivered, 
in  Belgium  conquered,  in  the  armies  where  I  have 
already  four  'times  offered  my  breast  to  the  musket- 
shots.  Go  demand  them  at  the  Place  de  la  Revolution, 
at  the  scaffold  of  January  21st,  from  the  throne  flung  to 
the  ground,  from  the  guillotine  ;  that  widow  —  " 

Marat  interrupted  him, — 

"  The  guillotine  is  a  virgin  Amazon  ;  she  does  not  give 
birth.  " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  retorted  Danton.  "  I  tell  you  I 
will  make  her  fruitful.  " 

"  We  shall  see,  "  said  Marat.     He  smiled. 

Danton  saw  this  smile. 

"  Marat,  "  cried  he,  "  you  are  the  man  that  hides  ;  1 
am  the  man  of  the  open  air  and  broad  day.  I  hate  the 
life  of  a  reptile.  It  would  not  suit  me  to  be  a  wood- 
louse.  You  inhabit  a  cave  ;  I  live  in  the  street.  You 
hold  communication  with  none  ;  whosoever  passes  may 
see  and  speak  with  me.  " 


MAGNA   TESTANTUR   VOCE   PER   UMBRAS.         155 

"  Pretty  fellow  !  Will  you  mount  up  to  where  I  live  ?  " 
snarled  Marat. 

Then  his  smile  disappeared,  and  he  continued,  in  a 
peremptory  tone, — 

"  Danton,  give  an  account  of  the  thirty-three  thousand 
crowns,  ready  money,  that  Montmorin  paid  you  in  the 
king's  name  under  pretext  of  indemnifying  you  for  your 
post  of  solicitor  at  the  Châtelet." 

"'I  was  of  the  14th  of  July,"  said  Danton,  haughtily. 

"  And  the  Garde-Meuble,  and  the  crown  diamonds  ?  " 

"I  was  of  the  6th  of  October."  * 

"  And  the  thefts  of  your  (  alter  ego,  Lacroix,  in 
Belgium  ?  " 

"  I  was  of  the  20th  of  June.  "     \ 

"  And  the  loans  to  the  Montansier  ?  " 

"  I  urged  the  people  on  to  the  return  from  Varennes.  " 

"  And  the  opera-house,  built  with  money  that  ypu 
furnished  ?  " 

"  1  armed  the  sections  of  Paris.  * 

"  And  'the  hundred  thousand  livres,  secret  funds  of 
the  Ministry  of  Justice  ?  " 

lc  I  caused  the  10  th  of  August." 

"  And  the  two  millions  for  the  Assembly's  secret  ex 
penses,   of  which  you  took  the  iourth  ?  " 

"  I  stopped  the  enemy  on  their  march,  and  I  barred 
the  passage  to  the  kings  in  coalition.  w 

"  Prostitute  !  "   said  Marat. 

Danton  was  terrible  as  he  rose  to  his  full  height. 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  he.  "  I  anl  a  harlot  !  I  sold  myself, 
but  I  saved  the  world  !  " 

Eobespierre  had  gone  back  to  biting  his  nails.  As 
for  him,  he  could  neither  laugh  nor  smile.  The  laugh 
(the  lightning)  of  Danton,  and  the  smile  (the  sting) 
of  Marat  were  both  wanting  to  him. 

Danton  resumed, — 


156  NINETY-THREE. 

"  I  am  like  the  ocean  ;  I  have  my  ebb  and  flow.  At 
low  water  my  shoals  may  be  seen  ;  at  high  tide  you  may 
see  my  waves,  " 

"  You  foam,  "  said  Marat. 

"  My  tempest,  "  said  Danton. 

Marat  had  risen  at  the  same  moment  as  Danton.  He 
also  exploded.     The  snake  became  suddenly  a  dragon. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  he.  "  Ah,  Eobespierre  !  Ah,  Danton  ! 
You  will  not  listen  to  me  !  Well,  you  are  lost  ;  I  tell 
you  so.  Your  policy  ends  in  an  impossibility  to  go 
farther;  you  have  no  longer  an  outlet;  and  you  do 
things  which  shut  every  door  against  you,  —  except  that 
of  the  tomb.  " 

"  That  is  our  grandeur,  "  said  Danton. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Marat  hurried  on  :  — 

"  Danton,  beware.  Vergniaud  has  also  a  wide  mouth, 
thick  lips,  and  frowning  eyebrows  ;  Vergniaud  is  pitted, 
too,  like  Mirabeau  and  like  thee  ;  that  did  not  prevent 
the  31st  of  May.  Ah,  you  shrug  your  shoulders  !  Some- 
times a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  makes  the  head  fall. 
Danton,  I  tell  thee,  that  big  voice,  that  loose  cravat, 
those  top-boots,  those  little  suppers,  those  great  pockets, 
—  all  those  are  things  which  concern  Louisette.  " 

Louisette  was  Marat's  pet  name  for  the  guillotine. 

He  pursued  :  — 

"  And  as  for  thee,  Eobespierre,  thou  art  a  Moderate, 
but  that  will  serve  nothing.  Go  on  !  powder  thyself, 
dress  thy  hair,  brush  thy  clothes,  play  the  vulgar  cox- 
comb, have  clean  linen,  keep  curled  and  frizzed  and 
bedizened  ;  none  the  less  thou  wilt  go  to  the  Place  de 
Grève!  Read  Brunswick's  proclamation.  Thou  wilt  get 
a  treatment  no  less  than  that  of  the  regicide  Damiens  ! 
Fine  as  thou  art,  thou  wilt  be  dragged  at  the  tails  of 
four  horses.  " 


MAGNA  TESTANTUR  VOCE  PER  UMBRAS.  157 

"  Echo  of  Coblentz  !  "  said  Kobespierre  between  his 
teeth. 

"  I  am  the  echo  of  nothing  ;   I  am  the  cry  of  the 

whole,  Kobespierre  !  Ah,  you  are  young,  you  !  How 
old  art  thou,  Danton  ?  Four-and-thirty.  How  many 
are  your  years,  Kobespierre  ?  Thirty-three.  Well,  I  — 
I  have  lived  always  !  I  am  the  old  human  suffering  ; 
I  am  six  thousand  years  old.  " 

"  That  is  true,  "  retorted  Danton.  "  For  six  thousand 
years  Cain  has  been  preserved  in  hatred,  like  the  toad 
in  a  rock  ;  the  rock  breaks,  Cain  springs  out  among  men, 
and  is  called  Marat.  "  , 

"  Danton  !  "  cried  Marat,  and  a  livid  glare  illuminated 
his  eyes.  1 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  asked  Danton.        l 

Thus  these  three  terrible  men  conversed. 

They  were  conflicting  thunderbolts. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   STIRRING   OF   THE   INMOST   NERVES. 

THERE  was  a  pause  in  the  dialogue  ;  these  Titans 
withdrew  for  a  moment  each  into  his  own 
reflections. 

Lions  dread  hydras.  Robespierre  had  grown  very 
pale,  and  Danton  very  red.  A  shiver  ran  through  the 
frames  of  both. 

The  wild-beast  glare  in  Marat's  eyes  had  died  out; 
a  calm,  cold  and  imperious,  settled  again  on  the  face  of 
this  man,  dreaded  by  his  formidable  associates. 

Danton  felt  himself  conquered,  but  he  would  not 
yield.     He  resumed.  — 

"  Marat  talks  very  loud  about  the  dictatorship  and 
unity,  but  he  has  cnly  one  ability,  —  that  of  breaking 
to  pieces.  " 

Robespierre  parted  his  thin  lips,  and  said, — 

"  As  for  me,  I  am  of  the  opinion  of  Anacharsis  Cloots  : 
I  say,  Neither  Roland  nor  Marat.  " 

"  And  I,  "  replied  Marat,  "  I  say,  Neither  Danton  nor 
Robespierre.  " 

He  regarded  both  fixedly,  and  added, — 

"  Let  me  give  you  advice,  Danton.  You  are  in  love, 
you  think  of  marrying  again  ;  do  not  meddle  any  more 
with  politics.      Be  wise.  " 

And  moving  backward  a  step  toward  the  door,  as  if  to 
go  out,  he  made  them  a  menacing  salute,  and  said, — 

"  Adieu,  gentlemen.  " 


A  STIRRING  OF  THE  INMOST  NERVES.  159 

Danton  and  Kobespierre  shuddered. 

At  this  instant  a  voice  rose  from  the  bottom  of  the 
room,  saying, — 

"  You  are  wrong,  Marat.  " 

All  three  turned  about.  During  Marat's  explosion 
some  one  had  entered  unperceived  by  the  door  at  the 
end  of  the  room. 

"  Is  it  you,  Citizen  Cimourdain  ?  "  asked  Marat. 
m  Good  -day." 

It  was  indeed  Cimourdain. 

"  I  say  you  are  wrong,  Marat,"  lie  repeated. 

Marat  turned  green,  which  was  his  way  of  growing 
pale. 

"  You  are  useful,  but  Eobespierre  and  Danton  are 
necessary.  Why  threaten  them  ?  Union,  union,  citi- 
zens !     Thepeople  expect  unity." 

This  entrance  acted  like  a  dash  of  cold  water,  and  had 
the  effect  that  the  arrival  of  a  stranger  does  on  a  family 
quarrel,  —  it  calmed  the  surface,  if  not  the  depths. 

Cimourdain  advanced  toward  the  table. 

Danton  and  Eobespierre  knew  him.  They  had  often 
remarked  among  the  public  tribunals  of  the  Convention 
this  obscure  but  powerful  nran,  whom  the  people  sa- 
luted. Nevertheless,  Robespierre,  always  a  stickler  for 
forms,  asked, — 

"  Citizen,  how  did  you  enter?  "'   - 

"  He  belongs  to  the  Évêché,  "  replied  Marat,  in  a  voice 
in  which  a  certain  submission  was  perceptible. 

Marat  braved  the  Convention,  led  the  Commune,  and 
feared  the  Évêché.      This  is  a  law. 

Mirabeau  fell  Eobespierre  stirring  at  some  unknown 
depth  below;  Eobespierre  felt  Marat  stir;  Marat  felt 
Hébert  stir;  Hébert,  Babeuf.  As  long  as  the  layers  un- 
derneath are  still,  the  politician  can  advance  ;  but  under 
the  most  revolutionary  there  must  be  some  subsoil,  and 


160  NINETY-THREE. 

the  boldest  stop  in  dismay  when  they  feel  under  theii 
feet  the  earthquake  they  have  created. 

To  be  able  to  distinguish  the  movement  which  covet- 
ousness  causes  from  that  brought  about  by  principle,  to 
combat  the  one  and  second  the  other,  is  the  genius  and 
the  virtue  of  great  revolutionists. 

Danton  saw  that  Marat  faltered. 

"  Oh,  Citizen  Cimourdain  is  not  one  too  many,  "  said  he. 
And  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the  new-comer. 

Then  he  said, — 
"  Zounds  !  explain  the  situation  to  Citizen  Cimourdain. 
He  appears  just  at  the  right  moment.  I  represent  the 
Mountain  ;  Eobespierre  represents  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety  ;  Marat  represents  the  Commune  ;  Cimour- 
dain represents  the  JÉvêché.  He  is  come  to  give  the 
casting  vote.  " 

"  So   be  it,  "  said  Cimourdain,    simply   and  gravely. 

*  What  is  the  matter  in  question  ?  " 

"  The  Vendée,  "  replied  Eobespierre. 

*  The  Vendée  !  "  repeated  Cimourdain. 

Then  he  continued  :  "  There  is  the  great  danger  If 
the  Eevolution  perish,  she  will  perish  by  the  Vendée. 
One  Vendée  is  more  formidable  than  ten  Germanys. 
In  order  that  France  may  live,  it  is  necessary  to  kill 
the  Vendée.  " 

These  few  words  won  him  Eobespierre. 

Still  Eobespierre  asked  this  question  :  "  Were  you  not 
formerly  a  priest  ?  " 

Cimourdain 's  priestly  air  did  not  escape  Eobespierre. 
He  recognized  in  another  that  which  he  had  within 
himself. 

Cimourdain  replied, — 

*  Yes,  citizen.  " 

"  What  difference  does   that  make  ?  "   cried  Danton. 

*  When  priests  are  good  fellows,  they  are  worth  more 


A  STIRRING  OF  THE  INMOST  NERVES.  161 

than  others.  In  revolutionary  times  the  priests  melt 
into  citizens,  as  the  bells  do  into  arms  and  cannon. 
Danjou  is  a  priest  ;  Daunou  is  a  priest  ;  Thomas  Lindet 
is  the  Bishop  of  Evreux.  Kobespierre,  you  sit  in  the 
Convention  side  by  side  with  Massieu,  Bishop  of  Beau- 
vais.  The  Grand  Vicar  Vaugeois  was  a  member  of  the 
Insurrection  Committee  of  August  10th.  Chabot  is  a 
Capuchin.  It  was  Dom  Gerle  who  devised  the  tennis- 
court  oath;  it  was  the  Abbé  Audran  who  caused  the 
National  Assembly  to.  be  declared  superior  to  the  king; 
it  was  the  Abbé  Goutte  who  demanded  of  the  Legisla- 
ture that  the  dais  should  be  taken  away  from  Louis 
XVI.  's  armchair-;  ij,  was  the  Abbé  Grégoire  who  pro- 
posed the  abolition  of  royalty.  " 

Seconded,  *  sneered  Marat,  "  by  the  actor  Collot 
d'Herbois.  Between  them  they  did  the  work,  —  the 
priest  overturned  the  throne  ;  the  comedian  flung  down 
the  king.  " 

"  Let  us  get  back  to  the  Vendée,  "  said  Robespierre. 

*  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Cimourdain.  "  What 
is  this  Vendée  doing  now?" 

Eobespierre  answered, — 

"  This  :  she  has  found  a  chief.     She  becomes  terrible.  " 

"  Who  is  this  chief,  Citizen  Robespierre  ?  " 

"  A  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  who  styles  himself 
a  Breton  prince.  " 

Cimourdain  made  a  movement.! 

"I  know  him,"  said  he;  "I  was  chaplain  in  his 
house.  " 

He  reflected  for  a  moment,  then  added,  — 

"  He  was  a  man  of  gallantry  before  being  a  soldier.  " 

"  Like  Biron,  who  was  a  Lauzun,  "  said  Danton. 

And  Cimourdain  continued,  thoughtfully  :  *  Yes,  an 
old  man  of  pleasure.     He  must  be  terrible.  " 

"  Frightful,  "  said  Robespierre.      "  He  burns  the  vil- 


162  ninety-three: 

lages,  kills  the  wounded,  massacres  the  prisoners,  shoots 
the  women.  " 

"  The  women  !  " 

"  Yes.  Among  others  he  had  the  mother  of  three 
children  shot.  Nobody  knows  what  became  of  the  little 
ones.      He  is  really  a  captain  :  he  understands  war.  " 

"  Yes,  in  truth,  "  replied  Cimourdain.  "  He  was  in 
the  Hanoverian  war,  and  the  soldiers  said,  '  Eichelieu 
in  appearance,  Lantenac  at  the  bottom.  '  Lantenac  was 
the  real  general.  Talk  about  him  to  your  colleague 
Dussaulx.  " 

Eobespierre  remained  silent  for  a  moment  ;  then  the 
dialogue  began  anew  between  him  and  Cimourdain. 

"  Well,  Citizen  Cimourdain,  this  man  is  in  Vendée.  " 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

"  The  last  three  weeks.  " 

"  He  must  be  declared  an  outlaw.  " 

"  That  is  done.  " 

"  A  price  must  be  set  on  his  head.  " 

"  It  is  done.  " 

"  A  large  reward  must  be  offered  to  whoever  will  take 
him.  " 

"  That  is  done.  " 

"  Not  in  assignats.  w 

"  That  is  done.  " 

"  In  gold.  " 

■  That  is  done.  " 

*  And  he  must  be  guillotined.  w 
"  That  will  be  done.  " 

■  By  whom  ?  " 
«  By  you.  " 

"  By  me  ?  w 

"  Yes  ;   you  will  be  delegated  by  the  Committee   of 
Public  Safety  with  unlimited  powers.  " 
"  I  accept,  "  said  Cimourdain. 


A  STIRRING  OF  THE  INMOST  NERVES.  163 

Eobespierre  made  his  choice  of  men  rapidly,  —  the 
quality  of  a  true  statesman.  He  took  from  the  portfolio 
before  him  a  sheet  of  white  paper,  on  which  could  be 
read  this  printed  heading  :  "  The  Fkench  Eepublic  One 
and  Indivisible.  —  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  " 

Cimourdain  continued, — 

"  Yes,  I  accept.  The  terrible  against  the  terrible. 
Lantenac  is  ferocious  ;  I  shall  be  so  too.  War  to  the 
death  against  this  man.  I  will  deliver  the  Eepublic 
from  him,   please  God.  " 

He  cheeked  himself;  then  resumed, — 

"  I  am  a  priest  ;  no  matter  ;  I  believe  in  God.  " 

"  God  has  gone  out  of  date,  "  said  Danton. 

"  I  believe  in  God,  "  said  Cimourdain,  unmoved. 

Eobespierre  gave  a  sinister  nod  of  approval. 

Cimourdain  asked,— 

"  To  whom  am  I  delegated ,?  " 

"  The  commandant  of  the  exploring  division  sent 
against  Lantenac.  Only,  —  I  warn  you,  —  he  is  a 
nobleman.  " 

Danton  cried  out, — 

"  That  is  another  thing  which  matters  little.  A 
noble  !  Well,  what  then  !  It  is  with  the  nobles  as 
with  the  priests.  When  one  of  (either  class  is  good,  he 
is  excellent.  Nobility  is  a  prejudice  ;  but  we  should 
not  have  it  in  one  sense  more  than  the  other,  —  no  more 
against  than  in  favour  of  it.  Eobespierre,  is  not  Saint- 
Just  a  noble  ?  Florelle  de  Saint- Just,  zounds  !  Anachar- 
sis  Cloots  is  a  baron.  Our  friend  Charles  Hesse,  who 
never  misses  a  meeting  of  the  Cordeliers,  is  a  prince,  and 
the  brother  of  the  reigning  Landgrave  of  Hesse-Eothen- 
burg.  Montaut,  the  intimate  of  Marat,  is  the  Marquis 
de  Montaut.  There  is  in  the  revolutionary  tribunal  a 
juror  who  is  a  priest,  —  Vilate  ;  and  a  juror  who  is  a 
nobleman,  —  Leroy,  Marquis  de  Montflabert.  Both  are 
tried  men.  " 


164  NINETY-THREE. 

"  And  you  forget,  "  added  Robespierre,  "  the  foreman 
of  the  revolutionary  jury.  " 

"Antonelle?" 

*  Who  is  the  Marquis  Antonelle,  "  said  Robespierre. 

Danton  continued, — 

"  Dampierre  was  a  nobleman,  —  the  one  who  lately  got 
himself  killed  before  Condé  for  the  Republic;  and 
Beaurepaire  was  a  noble,  —  he  who  blew  his  brains  out 
rather  than  open  the  gates  of  Verdun  to  the  Prussians.  " 

"  All  of  which,  "  grumbled  Marat,  "  does  not  alter  the 
fact  that  on  the  day  Condorcet  said,  '  the  Gracchi  were 
nobles,  '  Danton  cried  out,  *  All  nobles  are  traitors,  be- 
ginning with  Mirabeau  and  ending  with  thee.  '  " 

Cimourdain's  grave  voice  made  itself  heard:  — 

"  Citizen  Danton,  Citizen  Robespierre,  you  are  perhaps 
right  to  have  confidence,  but  the  people  distrusts  them  ; 
and  the  people  is  not  wrong  in  so  doing.  When  a  priest 
is  charged  with  the  surveillance  of  a  nobleman,  the  re- 
sponsibility is  doubled,  and  it  is  necessary  for  the  priest 
to  be  inflexible.  " 

"  True,  "  said  Robespierre. 

Cimourdain  added, — 

"  And  inexorable,  " 

Robespierre  replied,  — 

"  It  is  well  said,  Citizen  Cimourdain.  You  will  have 
to  deal  with  a  young  man.  You  will  have  the  ascen- 
dency over  him,  being  double  his  age.  It  will  be  neces- 
sary to  direct  him,  but  he  must  be  carefully  managed. 
It  appears  that  he  possesses  military  talent;  all  the 
reports  are  unanimous  as  to  that.  He  belongs  to  a  corps 
which  has  been  detached  from  the  Army  of  the  Rhine 
to  go  into  Vendee.  He  arrives  from  the  frontier,  where 
he  was  noticeable  for  intelligence  and  courage.  He 
leads  the  exploring  column  in  a  superior  way.  For  fif- 
teen days  he  has  held  the  old  Marquis  de  Lantenac  in 


A  STIRRING  OF  THE  INMOST  NERVES.  165 

check.  He  restrains  and  drives  him  before  him.  He 
will  end  by  forcing  him  to  the  sea,  and  tumbling  him 
into  it  headlong.  Lantenac  has  the  cunning  of  an  old 
general,  and  the  audacity  of  a  youthful  captain.  This 
young  man  has  already  enemies,  and  those  who  are 
envious  of  him.  The  Adjutant-General  Léchelle  is  jeal- 
ous of  him.  " 

"  That  L'Échelle  1  wants  to  be  commander-in-chief,  " 
interrupted  Danton.     "  There  is  nothing  in  his  favoui 
but  a  pun  :  '  It  needs  a  ladder  to  get  on  top  of  a  cart. 
All  the  same.     Charette  2  beats  him.  " 

"  And  he  is  not  willing,  "  pursued  Eobespierre,  "  that 
anybody  besides  himself  should  beat  Lantenac.  The 
misfortune  of  the  Vendean  war  is  in  such  rivalries. 
Heroes  badly  commanded,  — that  is  what  our  soldiers 
are.  A  simple  captain  of  hussars,  Chérin,  enters  Saumur 
with  trumpets  playing  Ça  ira  ;  he  takes  Saumur  ;  he 
could  keep  on  and  take  Cholet  but  he  has  no  orders,  so 
he  halts.  All  those  commands  of  the  Vendée  must  be 
remodelled.  The  head-quarters  are  scattered,  the  forces 
dispersed.  A  scattered  army  is  an  army  paralyzed  ;  it  is 
a  rock  crumbled  into  dust.  At  the  camp  of  Paramé 
there  are  only  some  tents.  There  are  a  hundred  useless 
little  companies  posted  between  Tréguier  and  Dinan,  of 
which  a  division  might  be  formed  that  could  guard  the 
whole  coast.  Léchelle,  supported  by  Parrein,  strips  the 
northern  coast  under  pretext  of  protecting  the  southern, 
and  so  opens  France  to  the  English.  A  half  million 
peasants  in  revolt  and  a  descent  of  England  upon  France, 
— that  is  Lantenac 's  plan.  The  young  commander  of 
the  exploring  column  presses  his  sword  against  Lante- 
nac 's  loins,  keeps  it  there,  and  beats  him  without 
Léchelle' s  permission.  Now,  Léchelle  is  his  general,  so 
Léchelle  denounces  him.      Opinions  are  divided  in  re- 

1  A  ladder.  2  Charrette.  —  a  cart. 


166  NINETY-THREE. 

gard  to  this  young  man.  Léchelle  wants  to  have  him 
shot.  Prieur,  of  the  Marne,  wants  to  make  him  adjutant- 
general.  " 

"  This  youth  appears  to  me  to  possess  great  qualities,  " 
said  Cimourdain. 

"  But  he  has  one  fault.  "  The  interruption  came  from 
Marat. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Cimourdain. 

"  Clemency,  "  said  Marat. 

Then  he  added, — 

"  He  is  firm  in  battle,  and  weak  afterward.  He 
shows  indulgence  ;  he  pardons  ;  he  grants  mercy  ;  he 
protects  devotees  and  nuns  ;  he  saves  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  aristocrats  ;  he  releases  prisoners  ;  he  sets 
priests  free.  " 

"  A  grave  fault,  "  murmured  Cimourdain. 

"  A  crime,  "  said  Marat. 

"  Sometimes,  "  said  Danton. 

"  Often,  "  said  Kobespierre. 

"  Almost  always,  "  chimed  in  Marat. 

"  When  one  has  to  deal  with  the  enemies  of  the  coun- 
try —  always,  "  said  Cimourdain. 

Marat  turned  toward  him. 

"  And  what,  then,  would  you  do  with  a  republican 
chief  who  set  a  royalist  chief  at  liberty  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  of  Léchelle  's  opinion  ;  I  would  have  him 
shot.  * 

"  Or  guillotined,  *  said  Marat. 

ft  He  might  have  his  choice,  "  said  Cimourdain. 

Danton  began  to  laugh. 

"  I  like  one  as  well  as  the  other.  " 

"  Thou  art  sure  to  have  one  or  the  other,  "  growled 
Marat. 

His  glance  left  Danton  and  settled  again  on  Cimour« 
dain. 


A  STIRRING  OF  THE  INMOST  NERVES.  167 

"  So,  Citizen  Cimourdain,  if  a  republican  leader  were 
to  flinch,  you  would  cut  off  his  head  ?  " 

"  Within  twenty-four  hours.  " 

"  Well,  "  retorted  Marat,  "  I  am  of  Kobespierre's  opin- 
ion ;  Citizen  Cimourdain  ought  to  be  sent  as  delegate  of 
the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  to  the  commandant  of 
the  exploring  division  of  the  coast  army.  How  is  it 
you  call  this  commandant  ?  " 

Eobespierre  answered, — 

K  He  is  ^ci-devant  noble.  " 

He  began  to  turn  over  the  papers. 

"  Get  the  priest  to  guard  the  nobleman,  "  said  Danton. 
"  I  distrust  a  priest  when  he  is  alone  ;  I  distrust  a  noble 
when  he  is  alone.  When  they  are  together,  I  do  not  fear 
them.      One  watches  the  other,  and  they  do  well.  " 

The  indignant  look  always  on  Cimourdain 's  face  grew 
deeper,  but  without  doubt  finding  the  remark  just  at 
bottom,  he  did  not  look  at  Danton,  but  said  in  his  stern 
voice  :  — 

"  If  the  republican  commander  who  is  confided  to  me 
makes  one  false  step  the  penalty  will  be  death.  " 

Eobespierre,  with  his  eyes  on  the  portfolio,  said, — • 

"  Here  is  the  name,  Citizen  Cimourdain.  The  com- 
mandant, in  regard  to  whom  full(  powers  will  be  granted 
you,  is  a  so-called  viscount  ;  his  name  is  Gauvain.  " 

Cimourdain  turned  pale. 

"  Gauvain  !  "  he  cried. 

Marat  saw  his  sudden  pallor. 

"  The  Viscount  Gauvain  !  "  repeated  Cimourdain. 

"  Yes,  "  said  Eobespierre. 

a  Well,  "  said  Marat,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  priest. 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  which  Marat  broke. 

"  Citizen  Cimourdain,  on  the  conditions  named  by  your- 
self, do  you  accept  the  mission  as  commissioner  delegate 
near  the  Commandant  Gauvain  ?     Is  it  decided  ?  " 


168  NÏNETY-THREE. 

"  It  is  decided,  "  replied  Cimourdain.  He  grew  palei 
and  paler. 

Robespierre  took  the  pen  which  lay  near  him,  wrote 
in  his  slow,  even  hand  four  lines  on  the  sheet  of  paper 
which  bore  the  heading  Committee  of  Public  Safety, 
signed  them,  and  passed  the  sheet  and  the  pen  to  Dan- 
ton  ;  Danton  signed,  and  Marat,  whose  eyes  had  not  left 
Cimourdain 's  livid  face,  signed  after  Danton. 

Robespierre  took  the  paper  again,  dated  it,  and  gave 
it  to  Cimourdain,  who  read, — 

Year  II.  of  the  Republic. 

Full  powers  are  granted  to  Citizen  Cimourdain,  delegated 
Commissioner  of  Public  Safety  to  the  Citizen  Gauvam,  com- 
manding the  Exploring  Division  of  the  Army  of  the  Coasts. 
Robespierre.     Danton.     Marat. 

And  beneath  the  signatures  :  — 

June  28,  1793. 

The  revolutionary  calendar,  called  the  Civil  Calendar, 
had  no  legal  existence  at  this  time,  and  was  not  adopted 
by  the  Convention,  on  the  proposition  of  Romme,  until 
October  5,  1793. 

While  Cimourdain  read,  Marat  watched  him. 

He  said  in  a  half -voice,  as  if  talking  to  himself, — - 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  have  all  this  formalized  by  a 
decree  of  the  Convention,  or  a  special  warrant  ol  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety.  There  remains  something 
yet  to  be  done  " 

"  Citizen  Cimourdain,  where  do  you  live  ?  "  asked 
Robespierre. 

"  Court  of  Commerce.  " 

"  So  do  I,  too, w  said  Danton.   "  You  are  my  neighbour.  * 

Robespierre  resumed, — 


A  STIRRING  OF  THE   INMOST  NERVES.  169 

"  There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose.  To-morrow  you  will 
receive  your  commission  in  form,  signed  by  all  the 
members  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  This  is  a 
confirmation  of  the  commission.  It  will  accredit  you  in 
a  special  manner  to  the  acting  Kepresentatives,  Philip- 
peaux,  Prieur  of  the  Marne,  Lecointre,  Alquier,  and  the 
others.  We  know  you.  Your  powers  are  unlimited. 
You  can  make  Oauvain  a  general  or  send  him  to  the 
scaffold.  You  will  receive  your  commission  to-morrow 
at  three  o'clock.      When  shall  you  set  out?  " 

"  At  four,  "  said  Cimourdain. 

And  they  separated. 

As  he  entered  his  house,  Marat  informed  Simonne 
Evrard  that  he  should  go  to  the  Convention  on  the 
morrow. 


BOOK   III. 

THE    CONVENTION 


CHAPTEK   I. 

WE  approach  the  grand  summit. 
Behold  the  Convention  ! 

The  gaze  grows  steady  in  presence  of  this  height. 

Never  has  a  more  lofty  spectacle  appeared  on  the 
horizon  of  mankind. 

There  is  one  Himalaya,  and  there  is  one  Convention. 

The  Convention  is  perhaps  the  culminating  point  of 
History. 

During  its  lifetime  —  for  it  lived  —  men  did  not  quite 
understand  what  it  was.  It  was  precisely  the  grandeur 
which  escaped  its  contemporaries  ;  they  were  too  much 
scared  to  be  dazzled.  Everything  grand  possesses  a  sa- 
cred horror.  It  is  easy  to  admire  mediocrities  and  hills  ; 
but  whatever  is  too  lofty,  whether  it  be  a  genius  or  a 
mountain,  —  an  assembly  as  well  as  a  masterpiece, — > 
alarms  when  seen  too  near.  An  immense  height  ap- 
pears an  exaggeration.  It  is  fatiguing  to  climb.  One 
loses  breath  upon  acclivities,  one  slips  down  declivities  ; 
one  is  hurt  by  sharp,  rugged  heights  which  are  in  them- 
selves beautiful;  torrents  in  their  foaming  reveal  the 
precipices  ;  clouds  hide  the  mountain-tops  ;  a  sudden 
ascent  terrifies  as  much  as  a  fall.  Hence  there  is  a 
greater  sensation  of  fright  than  admiration.      What  one 


THE   CONVENTION.  171 

feels  is  fantastic  enough,  —  an  aversion  to  the  grand. 
One  sees  the  abyss  and  loses  sight  of  the  sublimity  ;  one 
sees  the  monster  and  does  not  perceive  the  marvel. 
Thus  the  Convention  was  at  first  judged.  It  was  meas- 
ured by  the  purblind,— it,  which  needed  to  be  looked  at 
by  eagles. .. 

To-day  we  see  Nit  in  perspective,  and  it  throws  across 
the  deep  and  distant  heavens,  against  a  background  at 
once  serene  and,  tragic,  the  immense  profile  of  the  French 
Eevolution. 


CHAPTEE  II 

THE  14th  oî  July  delivered. 
The  10th  of  August  blasted. 

The  21st  of  September  founded. 

The  21st  of  September  was  the  Equinox;  was  Equi- 
librium, —  Libra,  the  balance.  It  was,  according  to  the 
remark  of  Komme,  under  this  sign  of  Equality  and  Jus- 
tice that  the  Eepublic  was  proclaimed.  A  constellation 
heralded  it. 

The  Convention  is  the  first  avatar  of  the  peoples.  It 
was  by  the  Convention  that  the  grand  new  page  opened 
and  the  future  of  to  day  commenced. 

Every  idea  must  have  a  visible  enfolding  ;  a  habita- 
tion is  necessary  to  any  principle  ;  a  church  is  God  be- 
tween four  walls  ;  every  dogma  must  have  a  temple. 
When  the  Convention  became  a  fact,  the  first  problem 
to  be  solved  was  how  to  lodge  the  Convention. 

At  first  the  Eiding-school,  then  the  Tuileries,  was 
taken.  A  platform  was  raised,  scenery  arranged,  —  a 
great  grey  painting  by  David  imitating  bas-reliefs; 
benches  were  placed  in  order  ;  there  was  a  square  tribune, 
parallel  pilasters  with  plinths  like  blocks  and  long  rectili- 
near stems  ;  square  enclosures,  into  which  the  spectators 
crowded,  and  which  were  called  the,  public  tribunes  ; 
a  Eoman  velarium,  Grecian  draperies;  and  in  these 
right-angles  and  these  straight  lines  the  Convention  was 
installed, —  the  tempest  confined  within  this  geometrical 


THE   CONVENTION.  173 

plan.  On  the  tribune  the  Eed  Cap  was  painted  in 
grey.  The  royalists  began  by  laughing  at  this  grey  red 
cap,  this  theatrical  hall,  this  monument  of  pasteboard, 
this  sanctuary  of  papier-maché,  this  Pantheon  of  mud 
and  spittle.  How  quickly  it  would  disappear!  The 
columns  were  made  of  the  staves  from  hogsheads,  the 
arches  were  of  deal  boards,  the  bas-reliefs  of  mastic, 
the  entablatures  were  of  pine,  the  statues  of  plaster  ; 
the  marbles  were  paint,  the  walls  canvas  ;  and  of  this 
provisional  shelter  France  has  made  an  eternal  dwelling. 

When  the  Convention  began  to  hold  its  sessions  in 
the  Kiding-school,  the  walls  were  covered  with  the  pla- 
cards which  sprouted  over  Paris  at  the  period  of  the 
return  from  Varennes. 

On  one  might  be  read  :  "  The  king  returns.  Any 
person  who  cheers  him  shall  be  beaten  ;  any  person  whf 
insults  him  shall  be  hanged.  "  On  another  :  "  Peace  ! 
Hats  on  !  He  is  about  to  pass  before  his  judges.  "  On 
another  :  "  The  king  has  aimed  at  the  nation.  He 
has  hung  fire;  it  is  now  the  nation's  turn."  On  an- 
other :  "  The  Law  !  The  Law  !  "  It  was  within  those 
walls  that  the  Convention  sat  in  judgment  on  Louis 
XVI. 

At  the  Tuileries,  where  the  Convention  began  to  sit 
on  the  10th  of  May,  1793,  and  which  was  called  the 
Palais-National,  the  assembly-hall  occupied  the  whtle 
space  between  the  Pavillon  de  l'Horloge,  called  the 
Pavilion  of  Unity,  and  the  Pavillon  Marsan,  then 
named  Pavilion  of  Liberty.  The  Pavilion  of  Flora  was 
called  Pavillon  Égalité.  The  hall  was  reached  by  the 
grand  staircase  of  Jean  Bullant.  The  whole,  ground- 
floor  of  the  palace,  beneath  the  story  occupied  by  the 
Assembly,  was  a  kind  of  long  guard-room,  littered  with 
bundles  and  camp-beds  of  the  troops  of  all  arms,  who 
kept  watch  about  the  Convention.      The  Assembly  had 


174  NINETY-THREE. 

a    guard    of    honour    styled    "  the    Grenadiers   of   the 
Convention.  " 

A  tricoloured  ribbon  separated  the  palace  where  the 
Assembly  sat  from  the  garden  in  which  the  people  came 
and  went 


CHAPTER  III 

LET  us  finish  the  description  of  that  sessions-hall. 
Everything  in  regard  to  this  terrible  place  is 
interesting. 

What  first  struck  the  sight  of  any  one  entering  was  a 
great  statue  of  Liberty,  placed  between  two  wide  windows. 
One  hundred  and  forty  feet  in  length,  thirty-four  feet  in 
width,  thirty-seven  feet  in  height,  —  such  were  the  di- 
mensions of  this  room,  which  had. been  the  king's  thea- 
tre, and  which  became  the  theatre  of  the  Revolution. 
The  elegant,  and  magnificent  hall  built  by  Vigarani  for 
the  courtiers  was  hidden  by  the  rude  timber-work  which 
in  '93  supported  the  weight  of  the  people.  This  frame- 
work, whereon  the  public  tribunes  were  erected,  had  (a 
detail  deserving  notice)  one  single  post  for  its  only  point 
of  support.  This  post  was  of  one  piece,  ten  metres  [32 
feet  6  inches]  in  circumference.  Few  caryatides  have 
laboured  like  that  beam  -,  it  supported  for  years  the  rude 
pressure  of  the  Revolution.  It  sustained  applause,  en- 
thusiasm, insolence,  noise,  tumult,  riot,  —  the  immense 
chaos  of  opposing  rages.  It  did  not  give  way.  After  the 
Convention  it  witnessed  the  Council  of  the  Ancients. 
The  18th  Brumaire  relieved  it. 

Percier  then  replaced  the  wooden  pillar  by  columns 
of  marble,   which  did  not  last  so  well. 

The  ideal  of  architects  is  sometimes  strange.  The 
architect  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  had  for  his  ideal  the 
trajectory  of  a  cannon-ball;  the  architect  of  Carlsruhe, 


176  NINETY-THREE. 

a  fan  ;  a  gigantic  drawer  would  seem  to  have  been  the 
model  of  the  architect  who  built  the  hall  where  the 
Convention  began  to  sit  on  the  10th  of  May,  1793.  it 
was  long,  high,  and  flat.  At  one  of  the  sides  of  the 
parallelogram  was  a  great  semicircle;  this  amphitheatre 
contained  the  seats  of  the  Representatives,  but  without 
tables  or  desks.  Garan-Coulon,  who  wrote  a  great 
deal,  held  his  paper  on  his  knee.  In  front  of  the 
seats  was  the  tribune  ;  before  the  tribune,  the  bust  of 
Lepelletier  Saint-Fargeau  ;  behind  was  the  President's 
arm-chair. 

The  head  of  the  bust  passed  a  little  beyond  the  ledge 
of  the  tribune,  for  which  reason  it  was  afterward  moved 
away  from  that  position. 

The  amphitheatre  was  composed  of  nineteen  semi- 
circular rows  of  benches,  rising  one  behind  the  other, 
the  supports  of  the  seats  prolonging  the  amphitheatre 
into  the  two  corners. 

Below,  in  the  horse-shoe  at  the  foot  of  the  tribune, 
the  ushers  had  their  places. 

On  one  side  of  the  tribune  a  placard  nine  feet  in 
length  was  fastened  to  the  wall  in  a  black  wooden  frame 
bearing  on  two  leaves,  separated  by  a  sort  of  sceptre, 
the  "  Declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man  ;  "  on  the  other 
side  was  a  vacant  place,  at  a  later  period  occupied  by  a 
similar  frame,  containing  the  Constitution  of  Year  IL, 
with  the  leaves  divided  by  a  sword.  Above  the  tribune, 
over  the  head  of  the  orator,  from  a  deep  loge  with  double 
compartments  always  filled  with  people,  floated  three 
immense  tricoloured  flags,  almost  horizontal,  resting  on 
an  altar  upon  which  could  be  read  the  word  Law. 
Behind  this  altar  there  arose,  tall  as  a  column,  an  enor- 
mous Roman  fasces  like  the  sentinel  of  free  speech, 
Colossal  statues,  erect  against  the  wall,  faced  the  Repre- 
sentatives.    The  President  had  Lycurgus  on   his  right 


THE  CONVENTION.  177 

hand  and  Solon  on  his  left,  Plato  towered  above  the 
Mountain. 

These  statues  had  plain  blocks  of  wood  for  pedestals, 
resting  on  a  long  cornice  which  encircled  the  hall,  and 
separated  the  people  from  the  Assembly,  The  spectators 
could  lean  their  elbows  on  this  cornice. 

The  black  wooden  frame  of  the  proclamation  of  the 
"'  Rights  of  Man  "  reached  to  the  cornice,  and  broke  the 
regularity  of  the  entablature,  — an  infraction  of  the 
straight  line  which  caused  Chabot  to  murmur  :  "  It  is 
ugly,  "  he  said  to  Vadier. 

On  the  heads  of  the  statues  alternated  crowns  of  oak- 
leaves  and  laurel.  A  green  drapery,  on  which  similar 
crowns  were  painted  in  deeper  green,  fell  in  heavy  folds 
straight  down  from  the  cornice  of  the  circumference, 
and  covered  the  whole  wall  of  the  ground-floor  occupied 
by  the  Assembly.  Above  this  drapery  the  wall  was 
white  and  naked.  In  it,  as  if  hollowed  out  by  a  gigan- 
tic axe,  without  moulding  or  foliage,  were  two  stories 
of  public  tribunes, — -the  lower  ones  square,  the  upper 
ones  round.  According  to  rule,  for  Vitruvius  was  not 
dethroned,  the  archivolts  were  superimposed  upon  the 
architraves.  There  were  ten  tribunes  on  each  side  of 
the  hall,  and  two  huge  boxes  at  either  end, —  in  all, 
twenty-four.      There  the  crowds  gathered  thickly. 

The  spectators  in  the  lower  tribunes,  overflowing  their 
borders,  grouped  themselves  along  the  reliefs  of  the  cor- 
nice. A  long  iron  bar,  firmly  fixed  at  a  height  to  lean 
on,  served  as  a  safety  rail  to  the  upper  tribunes,  and 
guarded  the  spectators  against  the  pressure  of  the  throngs 
mounting  the  stairs.  Nevertheless,  a  man  was  once 
thrown  headlong  into  the  Assembly  ;  he  fell  partly  upon 
Massieu,  Bishop  of  Beauvais  and  thus  was  not  killed. 
He  said  "  Hullo  !  Why,  a  bishop  is  really  good  for  some- 
thing !  " 


178  NINETY-THREE 

The  hall  of  the  Convention  could  hold  two  thousand 
persons  comfortably  ;  on  the  days  of  insurrection  it  held 
three. 

The  Convention  held  two  sittings,  one  in  the  daytime 
and  one  in  the  evening. 

The  back  of  the  President's  chair  was  curved,  and 
studded  with  gilt  nails.  The  table  was  upheld  by  four 
winged  monsters,  with  a  single  foot;  one  might  have 
thought  they  had  come  out  of  the  Apocalypse  to  assist 
at  the  Eevolution.  They  seemed  to  have  been  unhar- 
nessed from  Ezekiel's  chariot  to  drag  the  dung-cart  of 
Sanson. 

On  the  President's  table  was  a  huge  hand-bell  almost 
large  enough  to  have  served  for  a  church,  a  great  cop- 
per inkstand,  and  a  parchment  folio,  which  was  the  book 
of  official  repprts. 

Many  times  freshly  severed  heads,  borne  aloft  on  the 
tops  of  pikes,  sprinkled  their  blood-drops  over  this 
table. 

The  tribune  was  reached  by  a  staircase- of  nine  steps. 
These  steps  were  high,  steep,  and  hard  to  mount.  One 
day  Gensonné  stumbled  as  he  was  going  up.  "  It  is  a 
scaffold-ladder,  "  said  he.  "  Serve  your  apprenticeship,  " 
Carrier  cried  out  to  him. 

In  the  angles  of  the  hall,  where  the  wall  had  looked 
too  naked,  the  architect  had  put  Roman  fasces  for  decora- 
tions, with  the  axe  turned  to  the  people. 

At  the  right  and  left  of  the  tribune  were  square  blocks 
supporting  two  candelabra  twelve  feet  in  height,  having 
each  four  pairs  of  lamps.  There  was  a  similar  candela- 
brum in  each  public  box.  On  the  pedestals  were  carved 
circles,  which  the  people  called  guillotine-collars. 

The  benches  of  the  Assembly  reached  almost  to  the 
cornice  of  the  tribunes  ;  so  that  the  Representatives  and 
^the  spectators  could  talk  together. 


THE  CONVENTION.  179 

The  outlets  from  the  tribunes  led  into  a  labyrinth  of 
sombre  corridors,  often  filled  with  a  savage  din. 

The  Convention  overcrowded  the  palace  and  flowed 
into  the  neighbouring  mansions, —  the  Hôtel  de  Longue- 
ville  and  the  Hôtel  de  Coigny.  It  was  to  the  Hôtel  de 
Coigny,  if  one  may  believe  a  letter  of  Lord  Bradford's, 
that  the  royal  furniture  was  carried  after  the  10th  of 
August.      It  took  two  months  to  empty  the  Tuileries. 

The  committees  were  lodged  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  hall  :  in  the  Pavillon  Égalité  were  those  of  Legisla- 
tion, Agriculture,  and  Commerce  ;  in  the  Pavilion  of 
Liberty  were  the  Marine,  the  Colonies,  Finance,  Assig- 
nats, and  Public  Safety;  the  War  Department  was  at 
the  Pavilion  of  Unity. 

The  Committee  of  General  Security  communicated 
directly  with  that  of  Public  Safety  by  an  obscure  pas- 
sage, lighted  day  and  night  with  a  reflector-lamp,  where 
the  spies  of  all  parties  came  and  went.  People  spoke 
there  in  whispers. 

The  bar  of  the  Convention  was  several  times  moved. 
Generally  it  was  at  the  right  of  the  President. 

At  the  far  ends  of  the  hall  the  vertical  partitions 
which  closed  the  concentric  semicircles  of  the  amphi- 
theatre left  between  them  and  the  wall  a  couple  of 
narrow,  deep  passages,  from  which  opened  two  dark 
square  doors. 

The  Eepresentatives  entered  directly  into  the  hall  by 
a  door  opening  on  the  Terrace  des  Feuillants. 

This  hall,  dimly  lighted  during  the  day  by  deep-set 
windows,  took  a  strange  nocturnal  aspect  when,  with 
the  approach  of  twilight,  it  was  badly  illuminated  by 
lamps.  Their  pale  glare  intensified  the  evening  shadows, 
and  the  lamplight  sessions  were  lugubrious. 

It  was  impossible  to  see  clearly  ;  from  the  opposite 
ends  of  the  hall,  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  indistinct 


180  NINETY-THREE. 

groups  of  faces  insulted  each  other.  People  met  without 
recognizing  one  another.  One  day  Laignelot,  hurrying 
toward  the  tribune,  hit  against  some  person  in  the  slop- 
ing passage  between  the  benches.  "  Pardon,  Eobes 
pierre,  "  said  he.  "  For  whom  do  you  take  me  ?  "  replied 
a  hoarse  voice.      "  Pardon,   Marat,  "  said  Laignelot. 

At  the  bottom,  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  President, 
were  two  reserved  tribunes  ;  for,  strange  to  say,  the 
Convention  had  its  privileged  spectators.  These  tri- 
bunes were  the  only  ones  that  had  draperies.  In  the 
middle  of  the  architrave  two  gold  tassels  held  up  the 
curtains.      The  tribunes  of  the  people  were  bare. 

The  whole  surroundings  were  peculiar  and  savage,  yet 
correct.  Eegularity  in  barbarism  is  rather  a  type  of 
revolution.  The  hall  of  the  Convention  offered  the  most 
complete  specimen  of  what  artists  have  since  called 
"  architecture  Messidor  ;  "  it  was  massive,  and  yet  frail. 

The  builders  of  that  time  mistook  symmetry  for 
beauty.  The  last  word  of  the  Eenaissance  had  been 
uttered  under  Louis  XV. ,  and  a  reaction  followed.  The 
noble  was  pushed  to  insipidity,  and  the  pure  to  absurd- 
ity. Prudery  may  exist  in  architecture.  After  the 
dazzling  orgies  of  form  and  colour  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  Art  took  to  fasting,  and  only  allowed  herself 
the  straight  line.  This  species  of  progress  ends  in  ugli- 
ness, and  Art  reduced  to  a  skeleton  is  the  phenomenon 
which  results.  The  fault  of  this  sort  of  wisdom  and 
abstinence  is,  that  the  style  is  so  severe  that  it  becomes 
meagre. 

Outside  of  all  political  emotion,  there  was  something 
in  the  very  architecture  of  this  hall  which  made  one 
shiver.  One  recalled  confusedly  the  ancient  theatre 
with  its  garlanded  boxes,  its  blue  and  crimson  ceiling, 
its  prismed  lustres,  its  girandoles  with  diamond  reflec- 
tions, its  brilliant  hangings,  its  profusion  of  Cupids  and 


THE  CONVENTION.  181 

Nymphs  on  the  curtain  and  draperies,  the  whole  royal 
and  amorous  idyll  —  painted,  sculptured,  gilded  —  which 
had  brightened  this  sombre  spot  with  its  smile,  where 
now  one  saw  on  every  side  hard  rectilinear  angles,  cold 
and  sharp  as  steel  ;  it  was  something  like  Boucher  guil- 
lotined by  David. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BUT  when  one  saw  the  Assembly,  the  hall  was  for- 
gotten. Whoever  looked  at  the  drama  no  longer 
remembered  the  theatre.  Nothing  more  chaotic  and 
more  sublime.  A  crowd  of  heroes  ;  a  mob  of  cowards. 
Fallow  deer  on  a  mountain;  reptiles  in  a  marsh. 
Therein  swarmed,  elbowed  one  another,  provoked  one 
another,  threatened,  struggled,  and  lived,  all  those 
combatants  who  are  phantoms  to-day. 

A  convocation  of  Titans. 

To  the  right,  the  Gironde,  —  a  legion  of  thinkers  ;  to 
the  left,  the  Mountain,  —  a  group  of  athletes.  On  one 
side  Brissot,  who  had  received  the  keys  of  the  Bastile  ; 
Barbaroux,  whom  the  Marseillais  obeyed  ;  Kervélégan, 
who  had  under  his  hand  the  battalion  of  Brest,  garri- 
soned in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Marceau  ;  Gensonné,  who 
had  established  the  supremacy  of  the  Bepresentatives 
over  the  generals  ;  the  fatal  Guadet,  to  whom  the  queen 
one  night,  at  the  Tuileries,  showed  the  sleeping  Dau- 
phin :  Guadet  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  child,  and 
caused  the  head  of  the  father  to  fall.  Salles,  the  crack- 
brained  denouncer  of  the  intimacy  between  the  Moun- 
tain and  Austria.  Sillery,  the  cripple  of  the  Right,  as 
Couthon  was  the  paralytic  of  the  Left.  Lause-Duperret, 
who,  having  been  called  a  scoundrel  by  a  journalist,  in- 
vited him  to  dinner,  saying,  "  I  know  that  by  scoundrel 
you  simply  mean  a  man  who  does  not  think  like  your- 
self. "     Rabaut  Saint-Étienne,  who  commenced  his  al- 


THE  CONVENTION.  185 

manac  for  1790  with  this  saying:  "  The  Eevolution  is 
ended.  "  Quinette,  one  of  those  who  overthrew  Louis 
XVI.  ;  the  Jansenist  Camus,  who  drew  up  the  civil 
constitution  of  the  clergy,  believed  in  the  miracles  of 
the  Deacon  Paris,  and  prostrated  himself  each  night  be- 
fore a  figure  of  Christ  seven  feet  high,  which  was  nailed 
to  the  wall  of  his  chamber.  Fauchet,  a  priest,  who, 
with  Camille  Desmoulins,  brought  about  the  14th  of 
July  ;  Isnard,  who  committed  the  crime  of  saying, 
•"  Paris  will  be  destroyed,  "  at  the  same  moment  when 
Brunswick  was  saying,  "  Paris  shall  be  burned.  "  Jacob  ■ 
Dupont,  the  first  who  cried,  "  I  am  an  Atheist,  "  and  to 
whom  Eobespierre  replied,  "  Atheism  is  aristocratic.  " 
Lanjuinais,  stern,  sagacious,  and  valiant  Breton;  Ducos, 
the  Euryalus  of  Boyer-Fonfrède  ;  Bebecqui,  the  Pylades 
of  Barbaroux  (Bebecqui  gave  in  his  resignation  because 
Eobespierre  had  not  yet  been  guillotined).  Eichaud, 
who  combated  the  permanency  of  the  Sections.  La- 
source,  who  had  given  utterance  to  the  murderous  apo- 
thegm, "  Woe  to  grateful  nations  !  "  and  who  was 
afterward  to  contradict  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold 
by  this  haughty  sarcasm  flung  at  the  Mountainists  : 
"  We  die  because  the  people  sleep  ;  you  will  die  because 
the  people  awake.  "  Biroteau,  who  caused  the  abolition 
of  inviolability  to  be  decreed;  who  was  also,  without 
knowing  it,  the  forger  of  the  axe,  and  raised  the  scaffold 
for  himself.  Charles  Villatte,  who  sheltered  his  con- 
science behind  this  protest  :  "  I  will  not  vote  under  the 
hatchet'.  "  Louvet,  the  author  of  "  Faublas,  "  who  was 
to  end  as  a  bookseller  in  the  Palais  Eoyal,  with  Lodoiska 
behind  the  counter.  Mercier,  author  of  the  "  Picture  of 
Paris,  "  who  exclaimed,  "  On  the  21st  of  January,  all 
kings  felt  for  the  backs  of  their  necks  !  "  Marec,  whose 
anxiety  was  "  the  faction  of  the  ancient  limits.  "  The 
journalist  Carra,  who  said  to  the  headsman  at  the  foot 


184  NINETY-THREE. 

of  the  scaffold,  a  It  bores  me  to  die.  I  would  have  liked 
to  see  the  continuation.  "  Vigée,  who  called  himself  a 
grenadier  in  the  second  battalion  of  Mayenne  and  Loire, 
and  who,  when  menaced  by  the  public  tribunals,  cried, 
"  I  demand  that  at  the  first  murmur  of  the  tribunals  we 
all  withdraw  and  march  on  Versailles,  sabre  in  hand  !  " 
Buzot,  reserved  for  death  by  famine  ;  Valazé  destined  to 
die  by  his  own  dagger  ;  Condorcet,  who  was  to  perish  at 
Bourg-la-Keine  (become  Bourg-Égalité),  betrayed  by  the 
Horace  which  he  had  in  his  pocket  ;  Pétion,  whose  des- 
tiny was  to  be  adored  by  the  crowd  in  1792  and  devoured 
by  wolves  in  1794  :  twenty  others  still,  — Pontecoulant, 
Marboz,  Lidon,  Saint-Martin,  Dussaulx,  the  translator 
of  Juvenal,  who  had  been  in  the  Hanover  campaign  ; 
Boileau,  Bertrand,  Lesterp-Beauvais,  Lesage,  Gomaire, 
Gardien,  Mainvelle,  Duplentier,  Lacaze,  Antiboul,  and 
at  their  head  a  Barnave,  who  was  styled  Yergniaud. 

On  the  other  side,  Antoine  Louis  Léon  Florelle  de 
Saint-Just,  pale,  with  a  low  forehead,  a  regular  profile, 
eye  mysterious,  a  profound  sadness,  aged  twenty-three. 
Merlin  of  Thionville,  whom  the  Germans  called  Feuer- 
teufel,  —  "  the  fire-devil.  "  Merlin  of  Douai,  the  culpable 
author  of  the  "  Law  of  the  Suspected.  "  Soubrany,  whom 
the  people  of  Paris  at  the  first  Prairial  demanded  for 
general.  The  ancient  priest  Lebon,  holding  a  sabre  in 
the  hand  which  had  sprinkled  holy  water  ;  Billaud  Va- 
rennes,  who  foresaw  the  magistracy  of  the  future,  without 
judges  or  arbiters  ;  Fabre  d' Eglantine,  who  fell  upon  a  de- 
lightful treasure-trove, —  the  Eepublican  Calendar, —  just- 
as  Eouget  de  Lisle  had  a  single  sublime  inspiration,  — ■ 
the  "  Marseillaise  ;  "  neither  one  nor  the  other  ever  pro- 
duced a  second.  Manuel,  the  attorney  of  the  Commune, 
who  had  said,  "  A  dead  king  is  not  a  man  the  less.  " 
Goujon,  who  had  entered  Tripstadt,  Neustadt,  and  Spires, 
and  had  seen  the  Prussian  army  flee.     Lacroix,  a  lawyer 


THE  CONVENTION.  185 

turned  into  a  general,  named  Chevalier  of  Saint  Louisl 
six  days  before  the  10th  of  August.  Fréron  Thersites, 
the  son  of  Fréron  Zoilus.  Euth,  the  inexorable  searcher 
of  the  iron  cupboard,  predestined  to  a  great  republican 
suicide,  —  he  was  to  kill  himself  the  day  the  Eepublic 
died.  Fouché,  with  the  soul  of  a  demon  and  the  face  of 
a  corpse.  Camboulas,  the  friend  of  Father  Duchesne, 
who  said  to  Guillotin,  *  Thou  belongest  to  the  Club  of 
the  Feuillants,  but  thy  daughter  belongs  to  the  Jacobin 
Club.  "  Jagot,  who  to  such  as  complained  to  him  of  the 
nudity  of  the  prisoners,  replied  by  this  savage  saying, 
"  A  prison  is  a  dress  of  stone.  "  Javogues,  the  terrible 
desecrator  of  the  tombs  of  Saint  Denis.  Osselm,  a  pro- 
scriber,  who  hid  one  of  the  proscribed,  Madame  Charry, 
in  his  house.  Bentabolle,  who,  when  he  was  in  the 
chair,  made  signs  to  the  tribunes  to  applaud  or  hoot. 
The  journalist  Eobert,  the  husband  of  Mademoiselle 
Kéralio,  who  wrote  :  "  Neither  Eobespierre  nor  Marat 
come  to  my  house.  Eobespierre  may  come  when  he 
wishes  —  Marat,  never.  "  Garan  Coulon,  who,  when 
Spain  interfered  in  the  trial  of  Louis  XVI. ,  haughtily 
demanded  that  the  Assembly  should  not  deign  to  read 
the  letter  of  a  king  in  behalf  of  a  king.  Grégoire,  a 
bishop,  at  first  worthy  of  the  Primitive  Church,  but 
who  afterward,  under  the  Empire,  effaced  Grégoire  the 
republican  beneath  the  Count  Grégoire.  Amar,  who 
said  :  "  The  whole  earth  condemns  Louis  XVI.  To  whom, 
then,  appeal  for  judgment  ?  To  the  planets  ?  "  Eouyer, 
who,  on  the  21st  of  January,  opposed  the  firing  of  the 
cannon  of  Pont  Neuf,  saying,  "  A  king's  head  ought  to 
make  no  more  noise  in  falling  than  the  head  of  another 
man.  "  Chénier,  the  brother  of  André  ;  Vadier,  one  oi 
those  who  laid  a  pistol  on  the  tribunes  ;  Tanis,  who 
said  to  Momoro, — 

"  I  wish   Marat  and  Eobespierre  to  embrace  at   my 
table.  ■ 


186  NINETY-THREE. 

•  Where  dost  thou  live  ?  " 

"At  Charenton." 

"  Anywhere  else  would  have  astonished  me,  "  replied 
Momoro. 

Legendre,  who  was  the  butcher  of  the  French  Eevolu- 
tion,  as  Pride  had  been  of  the  English.  "  Come,  that  I 
may  knock  you  down,  "  he  cried  to  Lanjuinais. 

"  First  have  it  decreed  that  I  am  a  bullock,  "  replied 
Lanjuinais. 

Collot  d'Herbois,  that  lugubrious  comedian  who  had 
the  face  of  the  antique  mask,  with  two  mouths  which 
said  yes  and  no,  approving  with  one  while  he  blamed 
with  the  other  ;  branding  Carrier  at  Nantes  and  defying 
Châlier  at  Lyons;  sending  Eobespierre  to  the  scaffold 
and  Marat  to  the  Pantheon.  Génissieux,  who  demanded 
the  penalty  of  death  against  whomsoever  should  have 
upon  him  a  medallion  of  "  Louis  XVI.  martyred.  " 
Léonard  Bourdon,  the  schoolmaster,  who  had  offered  his 
house  to  the  old  man  of  Mont  Jura.  Topsent,  sailor; 
Goupilleau,  lawyer;  Laurent  Lecointre,  merchant;  Du- 
hem,  physician;  Sergent,  sculptor;  David,  painter; 
Joseph  Égalité,   prince. 

Others  still  :  Lecointe  Puiraveau,  who  asked  that  a 
decree  should  be  passed  declaring  Marat  mad.  Eobert 
Lindet,  the  disquieting  creator  of  that  devil-fish  whose 
head  was  the  Committee  of  General  Surety,  and  which 
covered  France  with  its  one-and-twenfrf  thousand  arms 
called  revolutionary  committees.  Lebœuf,  upon  whom 
Girez-Dupré,  in  his  "  Christmas  of  False  Patriots,  "  had 
made  this  epigram, — 

"  Lebœuf  vit  Legendre  et  beugla.  " 

Thomas  Payne,  the  clement  American  ;  Anacharsis 
Cloots,  German,  baron,  millionaire,  atheist,  Hébertist, 
candid.  The  upright  Lebas,  the  friend  of  the  Duplays. 
Rovère,  one  of  those  strange  men  who  are  wicked  for 


THE  CONVENTION.  187 

wickedness'  sake, —  for  the  art,  from  love  of  the  art,  ex- 
ists more  frequently  than  people  believe.  Charlier,  who 
wished  that  "  you"  should  be  employed  in  addressing 
aristocrats.  Tallien,  elegiac  and  ferocious,  who  will 
bring  about  the  9th  Thermidor  from  love.  Cambacérès, 
a  lawyer,  who  will  be  a  prince  later.  Carrier,  an  attor- 
ney, who  will  become  a  tiger.  Laplanche,  who  will  one 
day  cry,  "  I  demand  priority  for  the  alarm-gun.  *  Thu- 
riot,  who  desired  the  vote  of  the  revolutionary  tribunal 
to  be  given  aloud.  Bourdon  of  the  Oise,  who  challenged 
Chambon  to  a  duel,  denounced  Payne,  and  was  himself 
denounced  by  Hébert.  Fayau,  who  proposed  the  send- 
ing of  "  an  army  of  incendiaries  "  into  the  Vendée. 
Tavaux,  who,  on  the  13th  of  April,  was  almost  a  medi- 
ator between  the  Gironde  and  the  Mountain.  Vernier, 
who  proposed  that  the  chiefs  of  the  Gironde  and  the 
Mountain  should  be  sent  to  serve  as  common  soldiers. 
Eewbell,  who  shut  himself  up  in  Mayence.  Bourbotte, 
who  had  his  horse  killed  under  him  at  the  taking  of 
Saumur.  Guimberteau,  who  directed  the  army  of  the 
Cherbourg  coast.  Jard  Panvilliers,  who  managed  the 
army  of  the  coasts  of  Kochelle.  Lecarpentier,  who  led 
the  squadron  of  Cancale.  Eoberjot,  for  whom  the  am- 
bush of  Eastadt  was  waiting.  Prieur,  of  the  Marne,  who 
bore  in  camp  his  old  rank  of  major.  Levasseur  of  the 
Sarthe,  who  by  a  word  decided  Serrent,  commandant  of 
the  battalion  of  Saint- Amand,  to  kill  himself.  Eever- 
chon,  Maure,  Bernard  de  Saintes,  Charles  Eichard, 
Lequinio,  and  at  the  summit  of  this  group  a  Mirabeau, 
who  was  called  Danton. 

Outside  the  two  camps,  and  keeping  both  in  awe,  rose 
the  man  Eobespierre. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

BELOW  crouched  Dismay,  which  may  be  noble  ;  Mia 
Fear,  which  is  base.  Beneath  passions,  beneath 
heroisms,  beneath  devotion,  beneath  rage,  was  the  gloomy 
cohort  of  the  Anonymous.  The  shoals  of  the  Assembly 
were  called  the  Plain.  There  was  everything  there 
which  floats  ;  the  men  who  doubt,  who  hesitate,  who  re- 
coil, who  adjourn,  who  wait,  each  one  fearing  somebody. 
The  Mountain  was  made  up  of  the  Select  ;  the  Gironde 
of  the  Select  ;  the  Plain  was  a  crowd.  The  Plain  was 
summed  up  and  condensed  in  Sieves. 

Sieves,  a  profound  man,  who  had  grown  chimerical. 
He  had  stopped  at  the  Tiers-État,  and  had  not  been  able 
to  mount  up  to  the  people.  Certain  minds  are  made  to 
rest  half-way.  Sieves  called  Eobespierre  a  tiger,  and 
was  called  a  mole  by  Eobespierre.  This  metaphysician 
had  stranded,  not  on  wisdom,  but  prudence.  He  was 
the  courtier,  not  the  servitor,  of  the  Eevolution.  He 
seized  a  shovel,  and  went  with  the  people  to  work  in 
the  Champ  de  Mars,  harnessed  to  the  same  cart  as  Alex- 
ander de  Beauharnais.  He  counselled  energy,  but  never 
showed  it.  He  said  to  the  Girondists,  "  Put  the  cannon 
on  your  side.  "  There  are  thinkers  who  are  wrestlers  : 
those  were,  like  Condorcet,  with  Vergniaud  ;  or  like 
Camille  Desmoulins,  with  Danton.  There  are  thinkers 
whose  aim  is  to  preserve  their  lives  :  such  were  with 
Sieves. 

The  best  working  vats  have  their  lees.  Underneath 
the  Plain  even  was  the  Marsh, —  a  hideous  stagnation 


THE  CONVENTION.  189 

which  exposed  to  view  the  transparencies  of  egotism. 
There  shivered  the  fearful  in  dumb  expectation.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  abject,  — a  conglomeration  of  shames 
feeling  no  shame  ;  hidden  rage  ;  revolt  under  servitude. 
They  were  afraid  in  a  cynical  fashion  ;  they  had  all  the 
desperation  of  cowardice  ;  they  preferred  the  Gironde  and 
chose  the  Mountain  ;  the  final  catastrophe  depended  upon 
them  ;  they  poured  toward  the  successful  side  ;  they  de- 
livered Louis  XVI.  to  Vergniaud,  Vergniaud  to  Danton, 
Danton  to  Eobespierre,  Eobespierre  to  Tallien.  They 
put  Marat  in  the  pillory  when  living,  and  deified  him 
when  dead.  They  upheld  everything  up  to  the  day 
when  they  overturned  everything.  They  had  the  in- 
stinct to  give  the  decisive  push  to  whatever  tottered. 
In  their  eyes  —  since  they  had  undertaken  to  serve  on 
condition  that  the  basis  was  solid  —  to  waver  was  to  be- 
tray them.  They  were  number  ;  they  were  force  ;  they 
were  fear.     From  thence  came  the  audacity  of  turpitude. 

Thence  came  May  31st,  the  11th  Terminal,  the  9th 
Thermidor,  —  tragedies  knotted  by  giants  and  untied  by 
dwarfs. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

AMONG  these  men  full  of  passions  were  mingled 
men  filled  with  dreams.  Utopia  was  there  under 
all  its  forms,  —  under  its  warlike  form,  which  admitted 
the  scaffold,  and  under  its  innocent  form,  which  would 
abolish  capital  punishment  ;  pnantom  as  it  faced  thrones  ; 
'dugel  as  it  regarded  the  people.  Side  by  side  with  the 
spirits  that  fought  were  the  spirits  that  brooded.  These 
had  war  in  their  heads,  those  peace.  One  brain,  Carnot, 
brought  forth  fourteen  armies  ;  another  intellect,  Jean 
Debry,  meditated  a  universal  democratic  federation. 

Amid  this  furious  eloquence,  among  these  shrieking 
and  growling  voices,  there  were  fruitful  silences.  Laka- 
nal  remained  voiceless,  and  combined  in  his  thoughts 
the  system  of  public  national  education  ;  Lanthenas  held 
his  peace,  and 'created  the  primary  schools;  Kevellière 
Lépaux  kept  still,  and  dreamed  of  the  elevation  of  Phi- 
losophy to  the  dignity  of  Eeligion.  Others  occupied 
themselves  with  questions  of  detail,  smaller  and  more 
practical.  Guyton  Morveaux  studied  means  for  render- 
ing the  hospitals  healthy  ;  Maire,  the  abolition  of  exist- 
ing servitudes;  Jean  Bon  Saint- André,  the  suppression 
of  imprisonment  for  debt  and  constraint  of  the  person  ; 
Eomme,  the  proposition  of  Chappe  ;  Duboë,  the  putting 
the  archives  in  order  ;  Coren  Fustier,  the  creation  of  the 
Cabinet  of  Anatomy  and  the  Museum  of  Natural  His- 
tory ;  Guyomard,  river  navigation  and  the  damming  of 
the  Scheldt.     Art  had  its  monomaniacs.       On  the  21st 


THE  CONVENTION.  191 

of  January,  while  the  head  of  monarchy  was  falling  on 
the  Place  de  la  Eevolution,  Bézard,  the  Kepresentative 
of  the  Oise,  went  to  see  a  picture  of  Kubens,  which  had 
been  found  in  a  garret  in  the  Eue  Saint-Lazare.  Artists, 
orators,  prophets,  men-giants  like  Danton,  child-men 
like  Cloots,  gladiators  and  philosophers,  all  had  the 
same  goal, —  progress.  Nothing  disconcerted  them.  The 
grandeur  of  the  Convention  was,  the  searching  how  much 
reality  there  is  in  what  men  call  the  impossible.  At 
one  extreme,  Eobespierre  had  his  eye  fixed  on  Law;  at 
the  other,   Condorcet  had  his  fixed  on  Duty. 

Condorcet  was  a  man  of  reverie  and  enlightenment. 
Eobespierre  was  a  man  of  execution  ;  and  sometimes,  in 
the  final  crises  of  worn-out  orders,  execution  means  ex- 
termination. Eevolutions  have  two  currents,  — an  ebb 
and  a  flow  ;  and  on  these  float  all  seasons,  from  that  of 
ice  to  flowers.  Each  zone  of  these  currents  produces 
men  adapted  to  its  climate,  from  those  who  live  in  the 
sun  to  those  who  dwell  among  the  thunderbolts. 


CHAPTEE  VIL 

PEOPLE  showed  each  other  the  recess  of  the  left* 
hand  passage  where  Eobespierre  had  uttered  low  in 
the  ear  of  Garât.  Clavière's  friend,  this  terrible  epigram: 
"  Clavière  has  conspired  wherever  he  has  respired.  "  In 
this  same  recess,  convenient  for  words  needed  to  be 
spoken  aside  and  for  half- voiced  cholers,  Fabre  d 'Eglan- 
tine had  quarrelled  with  Eomme.  and  reproached  him 
for  having  disfigured  his  calendar  by  changing  "  Fervi- 
dor  "  into  "  Thermidor.  "  So,  too,  was  shown  the  angle 
where,  elbow  to  elbow,  sat  the  seven  Eepresentatives  of 
the  Haute-Garonne,  who,  first  called  to  pronounce  their 
verdict  upon  Louis  XVI. ,  thus  responded,  one  after  the 
other  :  Mailhe,  "  Death  ;  "  Delmas,  "  Death  :  "  Projean, 
"Death;"  Calés,  "Death;"  Ayral,  "Death;"  Julien, 
"  Death  ;  "  Desaby,  "  Death,  "  — ■  eternal  reverberation, 
which  fills  all  history,  and  which,  since  human  justice 
has  existed,  has  always  given  an  echo  of  the  sepulchre 
to  the  wall  of  the  tribunal.  People  pointed  out  with 
their  fingers,  among  that  group  of  stormy  faces,  all  the 
men  from  whose  mouths  had  come  the  uproar  of  tragic 
notes,  —  Paganel,  who  said  :  "  Death  !  A  king  is  only 
made  useful  by  death.  "  Millaud,  who  said  :  "  To-day,  if 
death  did  not  exist  it  would  be  necessary  to  invent  it.  * 
The  old  Eaffon  du  Trouillet,  who  said  :  "  Speedy  death  !  * 
Goupilleau,  who  cried  :  "  The  scaffold  at  once.  Delay 
aggravates  dying.  "  Sieyès,  who  said,  with  funereal 
brevity  :  "  Death  !  "  Thuriot,  who  had  rejected  the  ap- 
peal to  the  people  proposed  by  Buzot  :    *  What  !    the 


THE  CONVENTION.  193 

primary  assemblies!  What!  Forty-four  thousand  tri 
bunals  î  A  case  without  limit.  The  head  of  Louis  XVI. 
would  have  time  to  whiten  before  it  would  fall.  "  Au- 
gustin Bon  Bobespierre,  who,  after  his  brother,  cried  : 
"  I  know  nothing  of  the  humanity  which  slaughters  the 
people  and  pardons  despots.  Death  !  To  demand  a  re- 
prieve is  to  substitute  an  appeal  to  tyrants  for  the  appeal 
to  the  people.  "  Foussedoire,  the  substitute  of  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre,  who  had  said  :  "  I  have  a  horror  of  hu- 
man bloodshed,  but  the  blood  of  a  king  is  not  a  man's 
blood.  Death  !  "  Jean  Bon  Saint- André,  who  said  : 
*  No  free  people  without  a  dead  tyrant.  "  Lavicomterie, 
who  proclaimed  this  formula  :  "  So  long  as  the  tyrant 
breathes,  Liberty  is  suffocated  !  Death  !  "  Châteauneuf 
Eandon,  who  had  uttered  this  cry  :  "  Death  to  the  last 
Louis  !  "  Guyardin,  who  had  said  :  "  Let  the  Barrière 
Benversée  be  executed.  "  (The  Barrière  Ben  versée  was 
the  Barrière  du  Trône).  Tellier,  who  had  said  :  "  Let 
there  be  forged,  to  aim  against  the  enemy,  a  cannon  of 
the  calibre  of  Louis  XVI.  's  head.  And  the  indulgents, 
—  Gentil,  who  said  :  "  I  vote  for  confinement.  To  make 
a  Charles  I.  is  to  make  a  Cromwell.  "  Bancel,  who 
said  :  "  Exile.  I  want  to  see  the  first  king  of  the  earth 
condemned  to  a  trade  in  order  to  earn  hjs  livelihood.  " 
Albouys,  who  said  :  "  Banishment  !  Let  this  living 
ghost  go  wander  among  the  thrones.  "  Zangiacomi,  who 
said  :  "  Confinement.  Let  us  keep  Capet  alive  as  a 
scarecrow.  "  Chaillon,  who  said  :  "  Let  him  live.  I  do 
not  wish  to  make  a  dead  man  of  whom  Borne  will  make 
a  saint.  " 

While  these  sentences  fell  from  those  severe  lips  and 
dispersed  themselves  one  after  another  into  history, 
women  in  low-necked  dresses  and  decorated  with  gems 
sat  in  the  tribunes,  list  in  hand,  counting  the  voices 
and  pricking  each  vote  with  a  pin. 


194  NINETY-THREE. 

Where  tragedy  entered,  horror  and  pity  remain. 

To  see  the  Convention,  no  matter  at  what  period  of 
its  reign,  was  to  see  anew  the  trial  of  the  last  Capet. 
The  legend  of  the  21st  of  January  seemed  mingled  with 
all  its  acts  ;  the  formidable  Assembly  was  full  of  those 
fatal  breaths  which  blew  upon  the  old  torch  of  monar- 
chy, that  had  burned  for  eighteen  centuries,  and  extin- 
guished it.  The  decisive  trials  of  all  kings  in  that 
judgment  pronounced  upon  one  king  was  like  the  point 
of  departure  in  the  great  war  made  against  the  Past. 
Whatever  might  be  the  sitting  of  the  Convention  at 
which  one  was  present,  the  shadow  of  Louis  XVI.  's 
scaffold  was  seen  thrust  forward  within  it.  Spectators 
recounted  to  one  another  the  resignation  of  Kersaint, 
the  resignation  of  Eoland,  Duchâtel,  the  deputy  of  the 
Deux-Sèvres,  who,  being  ill,  had  himself  carried  to  the 
Convention  on  his  bed,  and  dying  voted  the  king's  life, 
which  caused  Marat  to  laugh  ;  and  they  sought  with 
their  eyes  the  Eepresentative  whom  history  has  forgot- 
ten, he  who,  after  that  session  of  thirty-seven  hours, 
fell  back  on  his  bench  overcome  by  fatigue  and  sleep, 
and  when  roused  by  the  usher  as  his  turn  to  vote  arrived, 
half  opened  his  eyes,  said  "  Death,  "  and  fell  asleep 
again. 

At  the  moment  Louis  XVI.  was  condemned  to  death, 
Eobespierre  had  still  eighteen  months  to  live  ;  Danton, 
fifteen  months;  Vergniaud,  nine  months;  Marat,  five 
months  and  three  weeks  ;  Lepelletier  Saint-Fargeau,  one 
day.     Quick  and  terrible  blast  from  human  mouths  ! 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

THE  people  had  a  window  opening  on  the  Conven- 
tion, —  the  public  tribunes  ;  and  when  the  win- 
dow was  not  sufficient,  they  opened  the  door,  and  the 
street  entered  the  Assembly.  These  invasions  of  the 
crowd  into  that  senate  make  one  of  the  most  astounding 
visions  of  history.  Ordinarily  those  irruptions  were 
amicable.  The  market-place  fraternized  with  the  curule 
chair  ;  but  it  was  a  formidable  cordiality,  —  that  of  a 
people  who  one  day  took  within  three  hours  the  cannon 
of  the  Invalides  and  forty  thousand  muskets  besides. 
At  each  instant  a  troop  interrupted  the  deliberations; 
deputations  presented  at  the  bar  petitions,  homages, 
offerings.  The  pike  of  honour  of  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Antoine  entered,  borne  by  women.  Certain  English 
offered  twenty  thousand  pairs  of  shoes  for  the  naked 
feet  of  our  soldiers.  "  The  citizen  Arnoux,  "  announced 
the  "  Moniteur,  "  "  Curé  of  Aubignan,  Commandant  of  the 
Battalion  of  Drome,  asks  to  march  to  the  frontiers,  and 
desires  that  his1  cure  may  be  preserved  for  him.  " 

Delegates  from  the  Sections  arrived,  bringing  on  hand- 
barrows,  dishes,  patens,  chalices,  monstrances,  heaps 
of  gold,  silver,  and  enamel,  presented  to  the  country  by 
this  multitude  in  rags,  who  demanded  for  recompense 
the  permission  to  dance  the  Carmagnole  before  the  Con- 
vention. Chenard,  Narbonne,  and  Vallière  came  to 
sing  couplets  in  honour  of  the  Mountain.  The  Section 
of  Mont  Blanc  brought  the  bust  of  Lepelletier,  and  a 
woman  placed  a  red  cap  on  the  head  of  the  President» 


196  NINETY-THREE. 

who  embraced  her.  The  citizenesses  of  the  Section  of 
the  Mail  "  flung  flowers  "  to  the  legislators.  "  The  pupils 
of  the  country  "  came,  headed  by  music,  to  thank  the 
Convention  for  having  prepared  the  prosperity  of  the 
century.  The  women  of  the  Section  of  the  Gardes  Fran- 
çaises offered  roses  ;  the  women  of  the  Champs  Elysées 
Section  gave  a  crown  of  oak-leaves  ;  the  women  of  the 
Section  of  the  Temple  came  to  the  bar  to  swear  "  only  to 
unite  themselves  with  true  Eepublicans.  "  The  Section 
of  Molière  presented  a  medal  of  Franklin,  which  was 
suspended  by  decree  to  the  crown  of  the  statue  of  Lib- 
erty. The  Foundlings  —  declared  the  Children  of  the 
Eepublic  —  filed  through,  habited  in  the  national  uni- 
form. The  young  girls  of  the  Section  of  Ninety-two 
arrived  in  long  white  robes,  and  the  "  Moniteur  "  of  the 
following  morning  contained  this  line  :  "  The  President 
received  a  bouquet  from  the  innocent  hands  of  a  young 
beauty.  "  The  orators  saluted  the  crowds,  sometimes 
flattered  them  :  they  said  to  the  multitude,  "  Thou  art 
infallible  ;  thou  art  irreproachable  ;  thou  art  sublime.  " 
The  people  have  an  infantile  side  :  they  like  those  sugar- 
plums. Sometimes  Eiot  traversed  the  Assembly  :  en- 
tered furious  and  withdrew  appeased,  like  the  Ehone 
which  traverses  Lake  Leman,  and  is  mud  when  it  enters 
and  pure  and  azure  when  it  pours  out. 

Sometimes  the  crowd  was  less  pacific,  and  Henriot 
was  obliged  to  come  with  his  furnaces  for  heating  shot 
to  the  entrance  of  the  Tuileries. 


CHAPTEK   IX. 

AT  the  ^ame  time  that  it  threw  off  revolution,  this 
Assembly  produced  civilization.  Furnace,  but 
forge  too.  In  this  caldron,  where  terror  bubbled,  pro- 
gress fermented.  Out  of  this  chaos  of  shadow,  this 
tumultuous  flight  of  clouds,  spread  immense  rays  of 
light  parallel  to  the  eternal  laws,  —  rays  that  have  re- 
mained on  the  horizon,  visible  forever  in  the  heaven  of 
the  peoples,  and  which  are,  one,  Justice;  another,  Tol- 
erance; another,  Goodness;  another,  Eight;  another, 
Truth  ;  another,   Love. 

The  Convention  promulgated  this  grand  axiom  :  "  The 
liberty  of  each  citizen  ends  where  the  liberty  of  anothei 
citizen  commences,  "  —  which  comprises  in  two  lines  all 
human  social  law.  It  declared  indigence  sacred  ;  it  de- 
clared infirmity  sacred  in  the  blind  and  the  deaf  and 
dumb,  who  became  wards  of  the  State  ;  maternity 
sacred  in  the  girl -mother,  whom  it  consoled  and  lifted 
up;  infancy  sacred  in  the  orphan,  whom  it  caused  to 
be  adopted  by  the  country  ;  innocence  sacred  in  the  ac- 
cused who  was  acquitted,  whom  it  indemnified.  It 
branded  the  slave-trade;  it  abolished  slavery.  It  pro- 
claimed civic  joint  responsibility.  It  decreed  gratuitous 
instruction.  It  organized  national  education  by  the 
normal  school  of  Paris  ;  central  schools  in  the  chief 
towns  ;  primary  schools  in  the  communes.  It  created 
the  academies  of  music  and  the  museums.  It  decreed 
the  unity  of  the  Code,  the  unity  of  weights  and  meas- 
ures, and  the  unity  of  calculation  by  the  decimal  sys- 


/98  NINETY-THREE. 

tern.  It  established  the  finances  of  France,  and  caused 
public  credit  to  succeed  to  the  long  monarchical  bank- 
ruptcy. It  put  the  telegraph  in  operation.  To  old  age  it 
gave  endowed  almshouses;  to  sickness,  purified  hospi- 
tals ;  to  instruction,  the  Polytechnic  School  ;  to  science, 
the  Bureau  of  Longitudes;  to  human  intellect,  the  In- 
stitute. At  the  same  time  that  it  was  national  it  was 
cosmopolitan.  Of  the  eleven  thousand  two  hundred  and 
ten  decrees  which  emanated  from  the  Convention,  a 
third  had  a  political  aim  ;  two  thirds,  a  human  aim.  It 
declared  universal  morality  the  basis  of  society,  and 
universal  conscience  the  basis  of  law.  And  all  that 
servitude  abolished,  fraternity  proclaimed,  humanity 
protected,  human  conscience  rectified,  the  law  of  work 
transformed  into  right,  and  from  onerous  made  honoura- 
ble, —  national  riches  consolidated,  childhood  instructed 
and  raised,  up,  letters  and  sciences  propagated,  light 
illuminating  all  heights,  aid  to  all  sufferings,  promul- 
gation of  all  principle,  —  the  Convention  accomplished, 
having  in  its  bowels  that  hydra,  the  Vendée  ;  and  upon 
its  shoulders  that  heap  of  tigers,  the  kings. 


)  ^ 


7"i  ~  '"•    VV  M 


Boissy  d'Anglas  uncovering  before  the  Head  of  the 
Deputy  Féraud. 


CHAPTER  X. 

IMMENSE  place  !  All  types  were^there,  —  human, 
inhuman,  superhuman.  Epic  gathering  of  antago- 
nisms, —  Guillotin  avoiding  David,  Bazire  insulting 
Chabot,  Guadet  mocking  Saint-Just,  Vergniaud  disdain- 
ing Danton,  Louvet  attacking  Robespierre,  Buzot  denoun- 
cing Egalité,  Chambon  branding  Pache  :  all  execrating 
Marat.  And  how  many  names  remain  still  to  be  regis- 
tered ! —  Armonville,  styled  Bonnet  Rouge,  because  he 
always  attended  the  sittings  in  a  Phrygian  cap,  a  friend 
of  Robespierre,  and  wishing,  "  after  Louis  XVI. ,  to  guil- 
lotine Robespierre  in  order  to  restore  an  equilibrium  ;  " 
Massieu,  colleague  and  counterpart  of  that  good  Lamour- 
ette,  a  bishop  fitted  to  leave  his  name  to  a  kiss  ;  Lehardy 
of  the  Morbihan,  stigmatizing  the  priests  of  Brittany; 
Barère,  the  man  of  majorities,  who  presided  when  Louis 
XVI.  appeared  at  the  bar,  and  who  was  to  Pamela  what 
Louvet  was  to  Lodoiska  ;  the  Oratorian  Daunou,  who 
said,  "  Let  us  gain  time  ;  "  Dubois  Crancé,  close  to 
whose  ear  leaned  Marat;  the  Marquis  de  Châteauneuf, 
Laclos,  Hérault  of  Séchelles,  who  recoiled  before  Hen- 
riot  crying,  "  Gunners,  to  your  pieces  ;  "  Julien,  who 
compared  the  Mountain  to  Thermopylae  ;  Gamon,  who 
desired  a  public  tribune  reserved  solely  for  women  ; 
Laloy,  who  adjudged  the  honours  of  the  séance  to  the 
Bishop  Gobel  coming  into  the  Convention  to  lay  down 
his  mitre  and  put  on  the  red  cap;  Lecomte,  who  ex- 
claimed, "  So  the  honours  are  for  whosoever  will  unfrock 
himself  ;  "    Féraud,  whose  head  Boissy  d'Anglas  saluted, 


200  NINETY-THREE. 

leaving  this  question  to  history  <:  Did  Boissy  d'Anglas 
salute  the  head,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  victim,  —  or  the 
pike  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  assassins  ?  "  the  two  brothers 
Duprat,  one  a  member  of  the  Mountain,  the  other  of  the 
Gironde,  who  hated  each  other  like  the  two  brothers 
Chénier. 

At  this  tribune  were  uttered  those  mysterious  words 
which  sometimes  posse&5t  unconsciously  to  those  who 
pronounce  them  the  prophetic  accent  of  revolutions,  and 
in  whose  wake  material  facts  appear  suddenly  to  assume 
an  inexplicable  discontent  and  passion,  as  if  they  had 
taken  umbrage  at  the  things  just  heard  ;  events  seem 
angered  by  words  :  catastrophes  follow  furious,  and  as  if 
exasperated  by  the  speech  of  men.  Thus  a  voice  upon  a 
mountain  suffices  to  set  the  avalanche  in  motion.  A  word 
too  much  may  be  followed  by  a  landslip.  If  no  one 
had  spoken,  the  catastrophe  would  not  have  happened. 
You  might  say  sometimes  that  events  are  irascible. 

It  was  thus,  by  the  hazard  of  an  orator's  ill-compre- 
hended word,  that  Madame  Elizabeth's  head  fell. 

At  the  Convention  intemperance  of  language  was  a 
right.  Threats  flew  about  and  crossed  one  another  like 
sparks  in  a  conflagration. 

Petion  :  "  Robespierre,  come  to  the  point.  " 

Robespierre  :  "  The  point  is  yourself,  Pétion  ;  I  shall 
come  to  it,  and  you  will  see  it  " 

A  voice  :  "  Death  to  Marat  !  " 

Marat  :  "  The  day  Marat  dies  there  will  be  no  more 
Paris,  and  the  day  that  Paris  expires  there  will  be  no 
longer  a  Eepublic.  " 

Billaud  Varennes  rises,  and  says,  "  We  wish  —  " 

Barère  interrupts  him  :  "  Thou  speakest  like  a  king.  " 

Another  day,  Philippeaux,  says,  "A  member  has 
drawn  his  sword  upon  me.  " 

Audouin  :  "  President,  call  the  assassin  to  order.  " 


THE  CONVENTION.  ^01 

The  President  :  "  Wait.  " 

Panis  :  "  President,  I  call  you  to  order  —  I!  " 

There  was  rude  laughter  moreover. 

Lecointre  :  a  The  Curé  of  Chant  de  Bout  complains  of 
Fauchet,  his  bishop,  who  forbids  his  marrying.  " 

A. voice:  "  I  do  not  see  why  Fauchet,  who  has  mis- 
tresses, should  wish  to  hinder  others  from  having  wives.  " 

A  second  voice  :  "  Priest,  take  a  wife  !  " 

The  galleries  joined  in  the  conversation.  They  said 
"  thee  "  and  "  thou  "  to  the  members.  One  day  the  Eep- 
resentative  Euamps  mounted  to  the  tribune.  He  had 
one  hip  very  much  larger  than  the  other.  A  spectator, 
crying  out,  thus  jeered  him  :  "  Turn  that  toward  the 
Eight,  since  thou  hast  a  cheek  à  la  David.  " 

Such  were  the  liberties  the  people  took  with  the  Con- 
vention. On  one  occasion,  however,  during  the  tumult 
of  the  11th  of  April,  1793,  the  President  commanded  a 
disorderly  person  in  the  tribunes  to  be  arrested. 

One  day  when  the  session  had  for  witness  the  old 
Buonarotti,  Eobespierre  takes  the  floor  and  speaks  for 
two  hours,  staring  at  Danton,  sometimes  straight  in  the 
face,  which  was  serious  ;  sometimes  obliquely,  which 
was  worse.  He  thunders  on  to  the  end,  however.  He 
closes  with  an  indignant  outburst  full  of  menacing 
words  :  "  The  conspirators  are  known,  the  corrupters  and 
the  corrupted  are  known  ;  the  traitors  are  known  ;  they 
are  in  this  assembly.  They  hear  us  ;  we  see  them,  and 
we  do  not  move  our  eyes  from  them.  Let  them  look 
above  their  heads,  and  they  will  see  the  sword  of  the 
law;  let  them  look  into  their  conscience,  and  they  will 
see  their  own  infamy.  Let  them  beware  !  "  And  when 
Eobespierre  has  finished,  Danton,  with  his  face  raised 
toward  the  ceiling,  his  eyes  half  closed,  one  arm  hang- 
ing loosely  down,  throws  himself  back  in  his  seat,  and 
is  heard  to  hum,— 


202  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Cadet  Koussel  fait  des  discours, 
Qui  ne  sont  pas  longs  quand  ils  sont  courts."  * 

Imprecations  followed  one  another,  —  conspirator! 
assassin  !  scoundrel  !  factionist  !  moderate  !  They  de- 
nounced one  another  to  the  bust  of  Brutus  that  stood 
there,  —  apostrophes,  insults,  challenges;  furious  glances 
from  one  side  to  the  other;  fists  shaken;  pistols  allowed 
to  be  seen  ;  poniards  half  drawn  ;  terrible  blazing  forth 
in  the  tribune.  Certain  persons  talked  as  if  they  were 
driven  back  against  the  guillotine  ;  heads  wavered, 
frightened  and  awed.  Mountainists,  Girondists,  Feuil- 
lantists,  Moderates,  Terrorists,  Jacobins,  Cordeliers, 
eighteen  regicide  priests,  —  all  these  men  a  mass  of 
vapours  driven  wildly  in  every  direction. 

1  "  Cadet  Eoussel  doth  make  his  speech 

Quite  short  when  it  no  length  doth  reach." 


CHAPTEE  XI 

SPIEITS  which  were  a  prey  of  the  wind.  But  this 
was  a  miracle-working  wind.  To  be  a  member  of 
the  Convention  was  to  be  a  wave  of  the  ocean.  This 
was  true  even  of  the  greatest  there.  The  force  of  impul- 
sion came  from  on  high.  There  was  a  Will  in  the  Con- 
vention which  was  that  of  all,  and  yet  not  that  of  any 
one  person.  This  Will  was  an  Idea,  : —  an  idea  indomi- 
table and  immeasurable,  which  swept  from  the  summit 
of  heaven  into  the  darkness  below.  We  call  this  Eevo- 
lution.  When  that  Idea  passed,  it  beat  down  one  and 
raised  up  another;  it  scattered  this  man  into  foam  and 
dashed  that  one  upon  the  reefs.  This  Idea  knew  whither 
it  was  going,  and  drove  the  whirlpool  before  it.  To 
ascribe  the  Eevolution  to  men  is  to  ascribe  the  tide  to 
the  waves. 

The  Eevolution  is  a  work  of  the  Unknown.  Call 
it  gcod  or  bad,  according  as  you  yearn  toward  the  future 
or  the  past,  but  leave  it  to  the  power  which  caused  it. 
It  seems  the  joint  work  of  grand  events  and  grand  indi- 
vidualities mingled,  but  it  is  in  reality  the  result  of 
events.  Events  dispense,  men  suffer;  events  dictate, 
men  sign.  The  14th  of  July  is  signed  Camille  Des- 
moulins ;  the  10th  of  August  is  signed  Danton  ;  the  2d 
of  September  is  signed  Marat;  the  21st  of  September  is 
signed  Grégoire;  the  21st  of  January  is  signed  Eobes- 
pierre  ;  but  Desmoulins,  Danton,  Marat,  Grégoire,  and 
Robespierre  are  mere  scribes.     7^e  great  and  mysterious 


204  NINETY-THREE. 

writer  of  these  grand  pages  has  a  name,  — God;  and  a 
mask,  Destiny.  Eobespierre  believed  in  G-od  :  yea. 
verily  ! 

The  Eevolution  is  a  form  of  the  eternal  phenomenon 
which  presses  upon  us  from  every  quarter,  and  which 
we  call  Necessity.  Before  this  mysterious  complication 
of  benefits  and  sufferings  arises  the  Wherefore  of  his- 
tory. Because  :  this  answer  of  him  who  knows  nothing 
is  equally  the  response  of  him  who  knows  all. 

In  presence  of  these  climacteric  catastrophes  which 
devastate  and  revivify  civilization,  one  hesitates  to  judge 
their  details.  To  blame  or  praise  men  on  account  of  the 
result  is  almost  like  praising  or  blaming  ciphers  on 
account  of  the  total.  That  which  ought  to  happen 
happens  ;  the  blast  which  ought  to  blow  blows.  The 
Eternal  Serenity  does  not  suffer  from  these  north  winds. 
Above  revolutions  Truth  and  Justice  remain  as  the  starry 
sky  lies  above  and  beyond  tempests. 


s 


CHAPTER  XII 

ITCH  was  the  unmeasured  and  immeasurable  Con 
v-^  vention,  —  a  camp  cut  off  from  the  human  race, 
attacked  by  all  the  powers  of  darkness  at  once  ;  the 
night-fires  of  the  besieged  army  of  Ideas  ;  a  vast  bivouac 
of  minds  upon  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  There  is  nothing 
in  history  comparable  to  this  group,  at  the  same  time 
senate  and  populace,  conclave  and  street-crossing,  Areo- 
pagus and  public  square,  tribunal  and  the  accused. 

The  Convention  always  bent  to  the  wind  ;  but  that 
wind  came  from  the  mouth  of  the  people,  and  was  the 
breath  of  God. 

And  to-day,  after  eighty-four  years  have  passed  away, 
always  when  the  Convention  presents  itself  before  the 
reflection  of  any  man,  whosoever  he  may  be,  — historian 
or  philosopher,  —  that  man  pauses  and  meditates.  It 
would  be  impossible  not  to  remain  thoughtfully  atten- 
tive before  this  grand  procession  of  shadows. 


CHAPTEK  XIII. 

MARAT  IN   THE   GREEN-ROOM. 

MARAT,  in  accordance  with  his  declaration  to 
Simonne  Evrard,  went  to  the  Convention  the 
morning  after  that  interview  in  the  Rue  du  Paon.  There 
was  in  the  Convention  a  marquis  who  was  a  Maratist, 
Louis  de  Montant,  the  same  who  afterward  presented 
to  the  Convention  a  decimal  clock  surmounted  by  the 
bust  of  Marat.  At  the  moment  Marat  entered,  Chabot 
had  approached  De  Montaut.      He  began  :  — 

"  Ci-devant  —  " 

Montaut  raised  his  eyes.  "  Why  do  you  call  me  ci« 
devant  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  so.  " 

«  1?" 

"  For  you  were  a  marquis.  * 

'  Never.  " 

■  Bah  !  " 

"  My  father  was  a  soldier  ;  my  grandfather  was  a 
weaver.  " 

"  What  song  is  that  you  are  singing,  Montaut  ?  n 

"  I  do  not  call  myself  Montaut.  " 

"  What  do  you  call  yourself,  then  ?  " 

"  Maribon.  " 

"  In  point  of  fact,  "  said  Chabot,  "  it  is  all  the  same 
to  me.  "  And  he  added  between  his  teeth  :  "  No  mar- 
quis on  any  terms.  " 

Marat  paused  in  the  corridor  to  the  left  and  watched 
Montaut  and  Chabot.     Whenever  Marat  entered,  there 


MARAT  IN  THE   GREEN-ROOM.  207 

was  a  buzz,  but  afar  from  him.  About  him  people  kept 
silence.  Marat  paid  no  attention  thereto.  He  dis- 
dained "  the  croaking  of  the  mud-pool.  "  In  the  gloomy 
obscurity  of  the  lower  row  of  seats,  Conpé  of  the  Oise, 
Prunelle,  Villars,  a  bishop  who  was  afterward  a  mem- 
ber of  the  French  Academy,  Boutroue,  Petit,  Plaichard, 
Bonet,  Thibaudeau,  and  Valdruche  pointed  him  out  to 
one  another. 

"  See,  Marat  !  " 

"  Then  he  is  not  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  he  is  here  in  a  dressing-gown.  * 

"  In  a  dressing-gown  !  " 

"  Zounds,  yes  !  " 

"  He  takes  liberties  enough  !" 

"  He  dares  to  come  like  that  into  the  Convention  !  " 

"  As  he  came  one  day  crowned  with  laurels,  he  may 
oertainly  come  in  a  dressing-gown.  " 

"  Face  of  brass  and  teeth  of  verdigris.  " 

"  His  dressing-gown  looks  new.  " 

"What  is  it  made  of?" 

"  Eeps.  " 

"  Striped.  " 

"  Look  at  the  lapels.  " 

"  They  are  fur.  " 

"  Tiger-skin.  " 

"  No  ;  ermine.  " 

"  Imitation.  " 

"  He  has  stockings  on  !  " 

"  That  is  odd.  " 

*  And  shoes  with  buckles  !  " 

"  Of  silver  !  " 

"  Camboulas's  sabots  will  not  pardon  that.  " 

People  in  other  seats  affected  not  to  see  Marat.  They 
talked  of  indifferent  matters.  Santhonax  accosted 
Dussaulx. 


208  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Have  you  heard,  Dussaulx  ?  n 

*  What  ?  " 

"  The  ci-devant  Count  de  Brienne  ?  " 

"  Who  was  in  La  Force  with  the  ci-devant  Duke  de 
Villeroy  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  I  knew  them  both.  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  They  were  so  horribly  frightened  that  they  saluted 
all  the  red  caps  of  all  the  turnkeys,  and  one  day  they 
refused  to  play  a  game  of  piquet  because  somebody  of- 
fered them  cards  that  had  kings  and  queens  among  them.  " 

"  Well  ?" 

"  They  were  guillotined  yesterday.  " 

"  The  two  of  them  ?" 

"  Both.  " 

"  Indeed  ;  how  had  they  behaved  in  prison  ?  " 

"  As  cowards.  " 

"  And  how  did  they  show  on  the  scaffold  ?  " 

"  Intrepid.  " 

Then  Dussaulx  ejaculated  :  "  It  is  easier  to  die  than 
to  live  !  " 

Barère  was  reading  a  report  ;  it  was  in  regard  to  the 
Vendée.  Nine  hundred  men  of  Morbihan  had  started 
with  cannon  to  assist  Nantes.  Eedon  was  menaced  by 
the  peasants.  Paimbœuf  had  been  attacked.  A  fleet 
was  cruising  about  Maindrin  to  prevent  invasions. 
From  Ingrande,  as  far  as  Maure,  the  entire  left  bank  of 
the  Loire  was  bristling  with  royalist  batteries.  Three 
thousand  peasants  were  masters  of  Pornic.  They  cried, 
"  Long  live  the  English  !  "  A  letter  from  Santerre  to  the 
Convention,  which  Barère  was  reading,  ended  with 
these  words  :  — 

"  Seven  thousand  peasants  attacked  Vannes.  We  repulsed 
them,  and  they  have  left  in  our  hands  four  cannon  — ?? 


MARAT   IN   THE  GREEN-ROOM.  209 

rt  And  how  many  prisoners  ?  "  interrupted  a  voice. 
Barère  continued  :  rt  Postscript  of  the  letter  :  — 


"'We  have  no  prisoners,  because  we  no  longer  make 
any.'»1 

Marat,  standing  motionless,  did  not  listen  ;  he  ap- 
peared absorbed  by  a  stern  preoccupation.  He  held  in 
his  hand  a  paper,  which  he  crumpled  between  his  fin- 
gers ;  had  any  one  unfolded  it,  he  might  have  read  these 
lines  in  Momoro's  writing,  —  probably  a  response  to  some 
question  he  had  been  asked  by  Marat  :  — 

"No  opposition  can  be  offered  to  the  full  powers  of  dele- 
gated commissioners,  above  all,  those  of  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety.  Genissieux  in  vain  said,  in  the;  sitting  of  May 
6th,  ;  Each  Commissioner  is  more  than  a  king;  '  it  had  no 
effect.  Life  and  death  are  in  their  hands.  Massade  at  An- 
gers; Trul lard  at  Saint- Amand;  Nyon  with  General  Marcé; 
Parrein  with  the  army  of  Sables;  Millier  with  the  army  of 
Niort  :  they  are  all-powerful.  The  Club  of  the  Jacobins  has 
gone  so  far  as  to  name  Parrein  brigadier-general.  The  cir- 
cumstances excuse  everything.  A  delegate  from  the  Com- 
mitte  of  Public  Safety  holds  in  check  a  commander-in-chief.  '[ 

Marat  ceased  crumpling  the  paper,  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  walked  slowly  toward  Montaut  and  Chabot, 
who  continued  to  converse,  and  had  not  seen  him  enter. 

Chabot  was  saying  :  "  Maribon,  or  Montaut,  listen  to 
this  :  I  have  just  come  from  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety.  " 

"  And  what  is  being  done  there  ?  " 

"  They  are  setting  a  priest  to  watch  a  noble-  " 

«  Ah  !  " 

*  A  noble  like  yourself  —  " 

H  I  am  not  a  noble,  "  interrupted  Montaut. 

1  Moniteur,  vol.  xix-  p.  81. 


210  NINETY-THREE. 

rt  To  be  watched  by  a  priest  —  " 

"  Like  you.  " 

"  I  am  not  a  priest,  "  said  Chabot. 

They  both  began  to  laugh. 

"  Make  your  story  explicit,  "  resumed  Montaut. 

"  Here  it  is,  then.  A  priest  named  Cimourdain  is 
delegated  with  full  powers  to  a  viscount  named  Gauvain  ; 
this  viscount  commands  the  exploring  column  of  the 
army  of  the  coast.  The  question  will  be  to  keep  the 
nobleman  from  trickery  and  the  priest  from  treason.  " 

"  It  is  very  simple,  "  replied  Montaut.  "  It  is  only 
necessary  to  bring  death  into  the  matter.  " 

"  I  come  for  that,  "  said  Marat. 

They  looked  up. 

*  Good-morning,  Marat,  "  said  Chabot.  "  You  rarely 
attend  our  meetings.  " 

e  My  doctor  has  ordered  me  baths,  "  answered  Marat. 

ft  One  should  beware  of  baths,  "  returned  Chabot. 
"  Seneca  died  in  one.  " 

Marat  smiled. 

"  Chabot,  there  is  no  Nero  here.  " 

'-  Yes,  there  is  you,  "  said  a  rude  voice. 

It  was  Danton  who  passed  and  ascended  to  his  seat. 

Marat  did  not  turn  round.  He  thrust  his  head  in 
between  Montaut  and  Chabot. 

"  Listen  ;  I  come  about  a  serious  matter.  One  of  us 
three  must  propose  to-day  the  draft  of  a  decree  to  the 
Convention.  " 

■   "  Not  I,  "  said  Montaut  ;  "  I  am  never  listened  to.     1 
am  a  marquis.  " 

"  And  I,  "  said  Chabot  —  "I  am  not  listened  to.  I 
am  a  Capuchin.  " 

"  And  I,"  said  Marat  —  "  I  am  not  listened  to.  I  am 
Marat.  " 

There  was  a  silence  among  them. 


MARAT  IN  THE   GREEN-ROOM.  2H 

It  was  not  safe  to  interrogate  Marat  when  lie  appeared 
preoccupied,  still  Montaut  hazarded  a  question. 

"  Marat,  what  is  the  decree  that  you  wish  passed  ?  " 

"  A  decree  to  punish  with  death  any  military  chief 
who  allows  a  rebel  prisoner  to  escape.  " 

Chabot  interrupted, — 

"  The  decree  exists  ;  it  was  passed  in  April.  " 

"  Then  it  is  just  the  same  as  if  it  did  not  exist,  "  said 
Marat.  "  Everywhere,  all  through  Vendée,  anybody 
who  chooses  helps  prisoners  to  escape,  and  gives  them  an 
asylum  with  impunity.  " 

"  Marat,  the  fact  is,  the  decree  has  fallen  into  disuse.  " 

"  Chabot,  it  must  be  put  into  force  anew.  " 

"  Without  doubt.  " 
^A.nd  to  do  that,  the  Convention  must  be  addressed.  * 

"  Marat,  the  Convention  is  not  necessary  ;  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety  will  suffice.  " 

"  The  end  will  be  gained,  "  added  Montaut,  "  if  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety  cause  the  decree  to  be  pla- 
carded in  all  the  communes  of  the  Vendée,  and  make 
two  or  three  good  examples.  " 

"Of  men  in  high  position,"  returned  Chabot, —  "  of 
generals.  " 

Marat  grumbled  :  "  In  fact  that  will  answer.  " 

"  Marat,  "  resumed  Chabot,  "  go  yourself  and  say  that 
to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  " 

Marat  stared  straight  into  his  eyes,  which  was  not 
pleasant  even  for  Chabot. 

"  The  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  "  said  he,  "  sits  in 
Eobespierre's  house;  I  do  not  go  there." 

"  I  will  go  myself,  "  said  Montaut. 

"  Good  !  "   said  Marat. 

The  next  morning  an  order  from  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety  was  sent  in  all  directions  among  the 
towns  and  villages  of  Vendée,  enjoining  the  publication 


212  NINE  li  -THREE. 

and  strict  execution  of  the  decree  of  death  against  any 
person  conniving  at  the  escape  of  brigands  and  captive 
insurgents.  This  decree  proved  only  a  first  step  :  the 
Convention  was  to  go  further  than  that.  A  few  months 
later,  the  11th  Brumaire,  Year  II.  (November,  1793), 
when  Laval  opened  its  gates  to  the  Vendean  fugitives, 
the  Convention  decreed  that  any  city  giving  asylum  to 
the  rebels  should  be  demolished  and  destroyed.  On 
their  side,  the  princes  of  Europe,  in  the  manifesto  of 
the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  conceived  by  the  emigrants  and 
drawn  up  by  the  Marquis  de  Linnon,  intendant  of  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  had  declared  that  every  Frenchman 
taken  with  arms  in  his  hand  should  be  shot,  and  that, 
if  a  hair  of  the  king's  head  fell,  Paris  should  be  razed 
to  the  ground. 

Cruelty  against  barbarity. 


PART    III. 

LA    VENDÉE. 


BOOK    I. 
LA    VENDÉE. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

THE    FORESTS. 

THEEE  were  at  that  time  seven  ill-famed  forests  in 
Brittany.  The  Vendean  war  was  a  revolt  of 
priests.  This  revolt  had  the  forests  as  auxiliaries. 
These  spirits  of  darkness  aid  one  another. 

The  seven  Black  Forests  of  Brittany  were  the  forest 
of  Fougères,  which  stopped  the  way  between  Dol  and 
Avranches  ;  the  forest  of  Prince,  which  was  eight  leagues 
in  circumference  ;  the  forest  of  Paimpol,  full  of  ravines 
and  brooks,  almost  inaccessible  on  the  side  toward 
Baignon,  with  an  easy  retreat  upon  Con  cornet,  which 
was  a  royalist  town  ;  the  forest  of  Eennes,  from  whence 
could  be  heard  the  tocsin  of  the  republican  parishes, 
always  numerous  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  cities  (it 
was  in  this  forest  that  Puysaye  lost  Focard)  ;  the  forest 
of  Machecoul,  which  had  Charette  for  its  wild  beast; 
the  forest  of  Garnache,  which  belonged  to  the  Tré- 
moilles,  the  Gauvains,  and  the  Eohans  ;  and  the  forest 
of  Brocéliande,  which  belonged  to  the  fairies. 


214  NINETY-THREE. 

One  gentleman  of  Brittany  bore  the  title  of  Lord  of 
the  Seven  Forests  :  this  was  the  Viscount  de  Fontenay, 
Breton  Prince.  For  the  Breton  Prince  existed  distinct 
from  the  French  Prince.  The  Eohans  were  Breton 
princes.  Gamier  de  Saintes,  in  his  report  to  the  Con- 
vention of  the  15th  Mvose,  Year  IL,  thus  distinguishes 
the  Prince  de  Talmont  :  "  This  Capet  of  the  brigands, 
Sovereign  of  Maine  and  of  Normandy.  " 

The  record  of  the  Breton  forests  from  1792  to  1800 
would  form  a  history  of  itself,  mingling  like  a  legend 
with  the  vast  undertaking  of  the  Vendée.  History  has 
its  truth  :  Legend  has  hers.  Legendary  truth  is  wholly 
different  from  historic  ;  legendary  truth  is  invention 
that  has  reality  for  a  result.  Still  history  and  legend 
have  the  same  aim,  —  that  of  depicting  the  external  type 
of  humanity. 

La  Vendée  can  only  be  completely  understood  by 
adding  legend  to  history;  the  latter  is  needed  to  de- 
scribe its  entirety,  the  former  the  details.  We  may  say, 
too,  that  La  Vendée  is  worth  the  pains.  La  Vendée  was 
a  prodigy. 

This  war  of  the  Ignorant,  so  stupid  and  so  splendid, 
so  abject  yet  magnificent,  was  at  once  the  desolation  and 
the  pride  of  France.  La  Vendée  is  a  wound  which  is  at 
the  same  time  a  glory. 

At  certain  crises  human  society  has  its  enigmas,  ~ 
enigmas  which  resolve  themselves  into  light  for  sages, 
but  which  the  ignorant  in  their  darkness  translate  into 
violence  and  barbarism.  The  philosopher  is  slow  to 
accuse  ;  he  takes  into  consideration  the  agitation  caused 
by  these  problems,  which  cannot  pass  without  casting 
about  them  shadows  dark  as  those  of  the  storm-cloud. 

If  one  wish  to  comprehend  Vendée,  one  must  picture 
to  one's  self  this  antagonism:  on  one  side  the  French 
Kevolution,  on  the  other  the  Breton  peasant.     In  face 


THE  FORESTS.  215 

of  these  unparalleled  events  —  an  immense  promise  of 
all  benefits  at  once,  a  fit  of  rage  for  civilization,  an  ex- 
cess of  maddened  progress,  an  improvement  that  ex- 
ceeded measure  and  comprehension  —  must  be  placed 
this  grave,  strange,  savage  man,  with  an  eagle  glance 
and  flowing  hair;  living  on  milk  and  chestnuts;  his 
ideas  bounded  by  his  thatched  roof,  his  hedge,  and  his 
ditch,  able  to  distinguish  the  sound  of  each  village  bell 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  using  water  only  to  drink  ;  wear- 
ing a  leather  jacket  covered  with  silken  arabesques, 
uncultivated  but  clad  embroidered;  tattooing  his  gar- 
ments as  his  ancestors  the  Celts  had  tattooed  their  faces  ; 
looking  up  to  a  master  in  his  executioner  ;  speaking  a 
dead  language,  which  was  like  forcing  his  thoughts  to 
dwell  in  a  tomb  ;  driving  his  bullocks,  sharpening  his 
scythe,  winnowing  his  black  grain,  kneading  his  buck- 
wheat biscuit;  venerating  his  plough  first,  his  grand- 
mother next;  believing  in  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the 
White  Lady  ;  devoted  to  the  altar,  but  also  to  the  lofty 
mysterious  stone  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  moor;  a 
labourer  in  the  plain,  a  fisher  on  the  coast,  a  poacher  in 
the  thicket  ;  loving  his  kings,  his  lords,  his  priests,  his 
very  lice  ;  pensive,  often  immovable  for  entire  hours 
upon  the  great  deserted  sea-shore,  a  melancholy  listener 
to  the  sea. 

Then  ask  yourself  if  it  would  have  been  possible  foi 
this  blind  man  to  welcome  that  light. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PEASANTS. 

THE  peasant  had  two  points  on  which  he  leaned,  — 
the  field  which  nourished  him,  the  wood  which 
concealed  him. 

It  is  difficult  to  picture  to  one's  self  what  those  Breton 
forests  really  were.  They  were  towns.  Nothing  could 
be  more  secret,  more  silent,  and  more  savage  than  those 
inextricable  entanglements  of  thorns  and  branches  ;  those 
vast  thickets  were  the  home  of  immobility  and  silence  ; 
no  solitude  could  present  an  appearance  more  death-like 
and  sepulchral.  Yet  if  it  had  been  possible  to  fell  those 
trees  at  one  blow,  as  by  a  flash  of  lightning,  a  swarm  of 
men  would  have  stood  revealed  in  those  shades.  There 
were  wells,  round  and  narrow,  masked  by  coverings  of 
stones  and  branches,  the  interior  at  first  vertical,  then 
horizontal,  spreading  out  underground  like  funnels,  and 
ending  in  dark  chambers.  Cambyses  found  such  in. 
Egypt,  and  Westermann  found  the  same  in  Brittany. 
There  they  were  found  in  the  desert,  here  in  the  forest; 
the  caves  of  Egypt  held  dead  men,  the  caves  of  Brittany 
were  filled  with  the  living.  One  of  the  wildest  glades 
of  the  wood  of  Misdon,  perforated  by  galleries  and  cells 
amid  which  came  and  went  a  mysterious  society,  was 
called  "  the  great  city.  "  Another  glade,  not  less  de- 
serted above  ground  and  not  less  inhabited  beneath,  was 
styled  "  the  place  royal.  " 

This  subterranean  life  had  existed  in  Brittany  from 
time  immemorial.  From  the  earliest  days  man  had 
there  hidden,    flying  from  man.     Hence  those  hiding- 


THE  PEASANTS.  217 

places,  like  the  dens  of  reptiles,  hollowed  out  below  the 
trees.  They  dated  from  the  era  of  the  Druids,  and  cer- 
tain of  those  crypts  were  as  ancient  as  the  cromlechs. 
The  larvse  of  legend  and  the  monsters  of  history  all 
passed  across  that  shadowy  land,  —  Teutates,  Csesar, 
Hoëi,  Neomenes,  Geoffrey  of  England,  Alain  of  the  iron 
glove,  Pierre  Manclerc  ;  the  French  house  of  Blois,  the 
English  house  of  Montfort;  kings  and  dukes,  the  nine 
barons  of  Brittany,  the  judges  of  the  Great  Days,  the 
Counts  of  Nantes  contesting  with  the  Counts  of  Eennes  ; 
highwaymen,  banditti,  Free  Lances  ;  Bene  II. ,  Viscount 
de  Kohan  ;  the  governors  for  the  king  ;  "  the  good  Duke 
of  Chaulnes,  "  hanging  the  peasants  under  the  windows 
of  Madame  de  Sévigné  ;  in  the  fifteenth  century  the 
butcheries  by  the  nobles,  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries  the  wars  of  religion,  in  the  eighteenth 
century  the  thirty  thousand  dogs  trained  to  hunt  men. 
Beneath  these  pitiless  tramplings  the  inhabitants  made 
up  their  minds  to  disappear.  Each  in  turn  —  the  Trog- 
lodytes to  escape  the  Celts,  the  Celts  to  escape  the  Bo- 
mans,  the  Bretons  to  escape  the  Normans,  the  Huguenots 
to  escape  the  Boman  Catholics,  the  smugglers  to  escape 
the  excise  officers  —  took  refuge  first  in  the  forests  and 
then  underground,  the  resource  of  hunted  animals.  It  is 
this  to  which  tyranny  reduces  nations.  During  two  thou- 
sand years  despotism  under  all  its  forms  —  conquest, 
feudality,  fanaticism,  taxes  —  beset  this  wretched,  dis- 
tracted Brittany  :  a  sort  of  inexorable  battue,  which 
only  ceased  under  one  shape  to  recommence  under  an- 
other. Men  hid  underground.  When  the  French  Bepub- 
lic  burst  forth,  Terror,  which  is  a  species  of  rage,  was 
already  latent  in  human  souls,  and  when  the  Bepublic 
burst  forth,  the  dens  were  ready  in  the  woods.  •  Brittany 
revolted,  finding  itself  oppressed  by  this  forced  deliver- 
ance, —  a  mistake  natural  to  slaves. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CONNIVANCE   OF  MEN   AND   FORESTS. 

THE  gloomy  Breton  forests  took  up  anew  their  an- 
cient rôle,  and  were  the  servants  and  accomplices 
of  this  rebellion,  as  they  had  been  of  all  others.  The 
subsoil  of  every  forest  was  a  sort  of  madrepore,  pierced 
and  traversed  in  all  directions  by  a  secret  highway  of 
mines,  cells,  and  galleries.  Each  one  of  these  blind 
cells  could  shelter  five  or  six  men.  There  are  in  exist- 
ence certain  strange  lists  which  enable  one  to  understand 
the  powerful  organization  of  that  vast  peasant  rebellion. 
In  Ille-et-Vilaine,  in  the  forest  of  Pertre,  the  refuge  of 
the  Prince  de  Talmont,  not  a  breath  was  heard,  not  a 
human  trace  to  be  found,  yet  there  were  collected  six 
thousand  men  under  Focard.  In  the  forest  of  Meulac, 
in  Morbihan,  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen,  yet  it  held  eight 
thousand  men.  Still,  these  two  forests,  Pertre  and  Meu- 
lac, do  not  count  among  the  great  Breton  forests.  If 
one  trod  there,  the  explosion  was  terrible.  Those  hypo- 
critical copses,  filled  with  fighters  waiting  in  a  sort  of 
underground  labyrinth,  were  like  enormous  black  sponges 
whence,  under  the  pressure  of  the  gigantic  foot  of  Revo- 
lution, civil  war  spurted  out.  Invisible  battalions  lay 
there  in  wait.  These  untrackable  armies  wound  along 
beneath  the  republican  troops  ;  burst  suddenly  forth  from 
the  earth  and  sank  into  it  again  ;  sprang  up  in  number- 
less force  and  vanished  at  will;  gifted  with  a  strange 
ubiquity  and  power  of  disappearance,  an  avalanche  at  one 
instant,  gone  like  a  cloud  of  dust  at  the  next  ;  colossal, 


CONNIVANCE  OF  MEN  AND  FORESTS.      219 

yet  able  to  become  pygmies  at  will  ;  giants  in  battle, 
dwarfs  in  ability  to  conceal  themselves,  jaguars  with  the 
habits  of  moles. 

There  were  not  only  the  forests,  there  were  the  woods. 
Just  as  below  cities  there  are  villages,  below  these  for- 
ests there  were  woods  and  underwoods.  The  forests 
were  united  by  the  labyrinths  (everywhere  scattered)  of 
the  woods.  The  ancient  castles,  which  were  fortresses  ; 
the  hamlets,  which  were  camps  ;  the  farms,  which  were 
enclosures  for  ambushes  and  snares,  traversed  by  ditches 
and  palisaded  by  trees,  —  were  the  meshes  of  the  net  in 
which  the  republican  armies  were  caught. 

This  whole  formed  what  is  called  the  "  Bocage.  " 
There  was  the  wood  of  Misdon,  which  had  a  pond  in 
its  centre,  and  which  was  held  by  Jean  Chouan.  There 
was  the  wood  of  Gennes,  which  belonged  to  Taillefer. 
There  was  the  wood  of  Huisserie,  which  belonged  to 
Gouge-le-Bruant  ;  the  wood  of  Charnie,  where  lurked 
Courtillé-le-Batard,  called  Saint-Paul,  chief  of  the  camp 
of  the  Vache  Noire  ;  the  wood  of  Burgault,  which  was 
held  by  that  enigmatical  Monsieur  Jacques,  reserved 
for  a  mysterious  end  in  the  vault  of  Juvardeil.  There 
was  the  wood  of  Charreau,  where  Pimousse  and  Petit- 
Prince,  when  attacked  by  the  garrison  of  Châteauneuf, 
rushed  forward  and  seized  the  grenadiers  in  the  repub- 
lican ranks  about  the  waist  and  carried  them  back  pris- 
oners ;  the  wood  of  La  Heureuserie,  the  witness  of  the 
rout  of  the  military  post  of  Longue-Faye  ;  the  wood  of 
Aulne,  whence  the  route  between  Eennes  and  Laval 
could  be  overlooked  ;  the  wood  of  La  Gravelle,  which  a 
prince  of  La  Trémoille  had  won  at  a  game  of  bowls  ;  the 
wood  of  Lorges,  in  the  Cotes-du-JSTord,  where  Charles  de 
Boishardy  reigned  after  Bernard  de  Villeneuve  ;  the 
wood  of  Bagnard,  near  Pontenay,  where  Lescure  offered 
battle  to  Chalbos,  who  accepted  the  challenge,  although 


220  NINETY-THREE. 

one  against  five;  the  wood  of  La  Durondais,  which  in 
old  days  had  been  disputed  by  Alain  le  Kedru  and 
Hérispoux,  the  son  of  Charles  the  Bald;  the  wood  of 
Croqueloup,  upon  the  edge  of  that  moor  where  Coquereau 
sheared  the  prisoners  ;  the  wood  of  Croix-Bataille,  which 
witnessed  the  Homeric  insults  of  Jambe  d'Argent  to 
Morière  and  of  Morière  to  Jambe  d'Argent;  the  wood  of 
La  Saudraie,  which  we  have  seen  being  searched  by  a 
Paris  regiment.  There  were  many  others  besides.  In 
several  of  these  forests  and  woods  there  were  not  only 
subterranean  villages  grouped  about  the  burrow  of  the 
chief,  but  also  actual  hamlets  of  low  huts,  hidden  under 
the  trees,  sometimes  so  numerous  that  the  forest  was 
filled  with  them.  Frequently  they  were  betrayed  by  the 
smoke.  Two  of  these  hamlets  of  the  wood  of  Misdon 
have  remained  famous,  —  Lorrière,  near  Létang,  and  the 
group  of  cabins  called  the  Eue  de  Bau,  on  the  side 
toward  Saint-Ouen-les-Toits. 

The  women  lived  in  the  huts,  and  the  men  in  the 
cellars.  In  carrying  on  the  war  they  utilized  the  gal- 
leries of  the  fairies  and  the  old  Celtic  mines.  Food  was 
carried  to  the  buried  men.  Some  were  forgotten,  and 
died  of  hunger;  but  these  were  awkward  fellows,  who 
had  not  known  how  to  open  the  mouth  of  their  well. 
Usually  the  cover,  made  of  moss  and  branches,  was  so 
artistically  fashioned  that,  although  impossible  on  the 
outside  to  distinguish  from  the  surrounding  turf,  it  was 
very  easy  to  open  and  close  on  the  inside.  These  hid- 
ing places  were  dug  with  care.  The  earth  taken  out  of 
the  well  was  flung  into  some  neighbouring  pond.  The 
sides  and  the  bottom  were  carpeted  with  ferns  and  moss. 
These  nooks  were  called  "  lodges.  "  The  men  were  as 
comfortable  there  as  could  be  expected,  considering  that 
they  lacked  light,  fire,  bread,  and  air. 

It  was  a  difficult  matter  to  unbury  themselves  and 


CONNIVANCE   OF  MEN  AND  FORESTS.  221 

come  up  among  the  living  without  great  precaution. 
They  might  find  themselves  between  the  legs  of  an  army 
on  the  march.  These  were  formidable  woods,  snares 
with  a  double  trap;  the  Blues  dared  not  enter,  the 
Whites  dared  not  come  out. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THEIR  LIFE   UNDERGROUND. 

^T^HE  men  grew  weary  of  their  wild-beast  lairs. 
-*■  Sometimes  in  the  night  they  came  forth  at  any 
risk,  and  went  to  dance  upon  the  neighbouring  moor; 
else  they  prayed,  in  order  to  kill  time.  "  Every  day,  " 
says  Bourdoiseau,  "  Jean  Chouan  made  us  count  our 
rosaries.  " 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  keep  those  of  the  Bas- 
Maine  from  going  out  for  the  Fête  de  la  Gerbe  when  the 
season  came.  Some  of  them  had  ideas  peculiar  to  them- 
selves. "  Denys,  "  says  Tranche  Montagne,  "  disguised 
himself  as  a  woman,  in  order  to  go  to  the  theatre  at 
Laval,  then  went  back  into  his  hole.  "  Suddenly  they 
would  rush  forth  in  search  of  death,  exchanging  the 
dungeon  for  the  sepulchre.  Sometimes  they  raised  tne 
cover  of  their  trench,  and  listened  to  hear  if  there  were 
fighting  in  the  distance  ;  they  followed  the  combat  with 
their  ears.  The  firing  of  the  republicans  was  regular  ; 
the  firing  of  the  royalists,  open  and  dropping,  —  this 
guided  them.  If  the  platoon-firing  ceased  suddenly,  it 
was  a  sign  that  the  royalists  were  defeated  ;  if  the  irregu- 
lar firing  continued,  and  retreated  toward  the  horizon,  it 
was  a  sign  that  they  had  the  advantage.  The  Whites 
always  pursued  ;  the  Blues  never,  because  they  had  the 
country  against  them. 

These  underground  belligerents  were  kept  perfectly 
informed  of  what  was  going  on.     Nothing  could  be  more 


THEIR  LIFE   UNDERGROUND.  223 

rapid,  nothing  more  mysterious,  than  their  means  of 
communication.  They  had  cut  all  the  bridges,  broken 
up  all  the  wagons  ;  yet  they  found  means  to  tell  each 
other  everything,  to  give  each  other  timely  warning. 
Kelays  of  emissaries  were  established  from  forest  to 
forest,  from  village  to  village,  from  farm  to  farm,  from 
cottage  to  cottage,  from  bush  to  bush.  A  peasant  with 
a  stupid  air  passed  by  :  he  carried  dispatches  in  his  hol- 
low stick.  An  ancient  constituent,  Boétidoux,  furnished 
them,  to  pass  from  one  end  of  Brittany  to  the  other, 
with  republican  passports  according  to  the  new  form, 
with  blanks  for  the  names,  of  which  this  traitor  had 
bundles»  It  was  impossible  to  discover  these  emissaries. 
Says  Puysaye  :  "  The  secrets  confided  to  more  than  four 
hundred  thousand  individuals  were  religiously  guarded.  " 
It  appeared  that  this  quadrilateral  —  closed  on  the 
south  by  the  line  of  the  Sables  to  Thouars,  on  the  east 
by  the  line  of  Thouars  to  Saumur  and  the  river  of  Thoué, 
on  the  north  by  the  Loire,  and  on  the  west  by  the  ocean 
—  possessed  everywhere  the  same  nervous  activity,  and 
not  a  single  point  of  this  soil  could  stir  without  shaking 
the  whole.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  Luçon  had  in- 
formation in  regard  to  Noirmoutier,  and  the  camp  of 
La  Loué  knew  what  the  camp  of  Croix -Morineau  was 
doing.  It  seemed  as  if  the  very  birds  of  the  air  carried 
tidings.  The  7th  Messidor,  Year  III. ,  Hoche  wrote  : 
"  One  might  believe  that  they  have  telegraphs.  "  They 
were  in  clans,  as  in  Scotland  ;  each  parish  had  its  cap- 
tain. In  that  war  my  father  fought,  and  I  can  speak 
advisedly  thereof. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THEIR  LIFE   IN   WARFARE. 

ni/TANY  of  them  were  only  armed  with  pikes.  Good 
-LY-*-  fowling-pieces  were  abundant.  No  marksmen 
could  be  more  expert  than  the  poachers  of  the  Bocage  and 
the  smugglers  of  the  Loroux.  They  were  strange  com- 
bâtants,   terrible  and  intrepid. 

The  decree  for  the  levy  of  three  hundred  thousand 
men  had  been  the  signal  for  the  tocsin  to  sound  in  six 
hundred  villages.  The  blaze  of  the  conflagration  burst 
forth  in  all  quarters  at  the  same  time.  Poitou  and  An- 
jou exploded  on  one  day.  Let  us  add  that  a  premoni- 
tory rumbling  had  made  itself  heard  on  the  moor  of 
Kerbader  upon  the  8th  of  July,  1792,  a  month  before 
the  10th  of  August.  Alain  Eedeler,  to-day  forgotten, 
was  the  precursor  of  La  Kochejacquelein  and  Jean 
Chouan.  The  royalists  forced  all  able-bodied  men  to 
march  under  pain  of  death.  They  requisitioned  har- 
nesses, carts,  and  provisions.  At  once  Sapinaud  had  three 
thousand  soldiers,  Cathelineau  ten  thousand,  Stofflet 
twenty  thousand,  and  Charette  was  master  of  Noirmou- 
tier.  The  Viscount  de  Scépeaux  roused  the  Haut  Anjou  ; 
the  Chevalier  de  Dieuzie,  the  Entre  Vilaine  et  Loire  ; 
Tristan  l'Hermite,  the  Bas-Maine  ;  the  barber  Gaston,  the 
city  of  Guéménée  ;  and  Abbé  Bernier  all  the  rest. 

It  needed  but  little  to  rouse  all  those  multitudes.  In 
the  altar  of  a  priest  who  had  taken  the  oath  to  the  re- 
public —  a  "  priest  swearer,  "  as  the  people  said  —  was 


THEIR  LIFE  IN  WARFARE.  225 

placed  a  great  black  cat,  which  sprang  suddenly  out 
during  Mass.  "  It  is  the  devil  !  "  cried  the  peasants, 
and  a  whole  canton  rose  in  revolt.  A  breath  of  fire 
issued  from  the  confessionals.  In  order  to  attack  the 
Blues  and  to  leap  the  ravines,  they  had  their  poles  fif- 
teen feet  in  length,  called  ferte,  an  arm  available  for 
combat  and  for  flight.  In  the  thickest  of  the  frays, 
when  the  peasants  were  attacking  the  republican  squares 
if  they  chanced  to  meet  upon  the  battle-field  a  cross*  or  a 
chapel,  all  fell  upon  their  knees  and  said  a  prayer  under 
the  enemy's  fire;  the  rosary  counted,  such  as  were  still 
living  sprang  up  again  and  rushed  upon  the  foe  !  Alas, 
what  giants  !  They  loaded  their  guns  as  they  ran  ;  that 
was  their  peculiar  talent.  They  were  made  to  believe 
whatever  their  leaders  chose.  The  priests  showed  them 
other  priests  whose  necks  had  been  reddened  by  means 
of  a  cord,  and  said  to  them,  *  These  are  the  guillotined 
who  have  been  brought  back  to  life.  "  They  had  their 
spasms  of  chivalry  :  they  honoured  Fesque,  a  republican 
standard-bearer,  who  allowed  himself  to  be  sabred  with- 
out losing  hold  of  his  flag.  The  peasants  had  a  vein  of 
mockery  :  they  called  the  republican  and  married  priests 
"  Des  sans-calottes  devenus  sans-culottes  !  "  ("  The  un- 
petticoated  become  the  unbreeched.  ") 

They  began  by  being  afraid  of  the  cannon,  then  they 
dashed  forward  with  their  sticks  and  took  them.  They 
captured  first  a  fine  bronze  cannon,  which  they  baptized 
"  The  Missionary  ;  "  then  another  which  dated  from  the 
Koman  Catholic  wars,  upon  which  were  engraved  the 
arms  of  Eichelieu  and  a  head  of  the  Virgin  ;  this  they 
named  "  Marie  Jeanne.  "  When  they  lost  Fontenay  they 
lost  Marie  Jeanne,  about  which  six  hundred  peasants 
fell  without  flinching;  then  they  retook  Fontenay  in 
order  to  recover  Marie  Jeanne  :  they  brought  it  back  be- 
neath a  fleur-de-lis   embroidered   banner,    and   covered 


226  NINETY-THREE. 

with  flowers,  and  forced  the  women  who  passed  to  kiss 
it.  But  two  cannon  were  a  small  store.  Stofrlet  had 
taken  Marie  Jeanne;  Cathelineau,  jealous  of  his  success, 
started  out  of  Pin-en-Mange^  assaulted  Jallais,  and  cap- 
tured a  third.  Forest  attacked  Saint-Florent  and  took 
a  fourth.  Two  other  captains,  Chouppes  and  Saint  Pol, 
did  better;  they  simulated  cannon  by  the  trunks  of 
trees,  gunners  by  mannikins,  and  with  this  artillery, 
about  which  they  laughed  heartily,  made  the  Blues  re- 
treat to  Mareuil.  This  was  their  great  era.  Later,  when 
Chalbos  routed  La  Marsonnière,  the  peasants  left  behind 
them  on  the  dishonoured  field  of  battle  thirty-two  can- 
non bearing  the  arms  of  England.  England  at  that  time 
paid  the  French  princes,  and  as  Nantiat  wrote  on  the 
10th  of  May,  1794,  "  sent  funds  to  Monseigneur,  because 
Pitt  had  been  told  that  it  was  proper  so  to  do.  " 

Mellinet,  in  a  report  of  the  31st  of  March,  said, 
"  Long  live  the  English  !  "  is  the  cry  of  the  rebels.  The 
peasants  delayed  themselves  by  pillage.  These  devotees 
were  robbers.  Savages  have  their  vices.  It  is  by  these 
that  civilization  captures  them  later.  Puysaye  says  : 1  "  I 
several  times  preserved  the  burg  of  Phélan  from  pillage.  " 
And  further  on,2  he  recounts  how  he  avoided  entering 
Montfort  :  "  I  made  a  circuit  in  order  to  prevent  the 
plundering  of  the  Jacobins'  houses." 

They  robbed  Cholet  ;  they  sacked  Challans.  After 
having  failed  at  Granville,  they  pillaged  Ville-Dieu. 
They  styled  the  "  Jacobin  herd  "  those  of  the  country 
people  who  had  joined  the  Blues,  and  exterminated  such 
with  more  ferocity  than  other  foes.  They  loved  battle 
like  soldiers,  and  massacre  like  brigands.  To  shoot  the 
"  clumsy  fellows  "  —  that  is,  the  bourgeois  —  pleased 
them  ;  they  called  that  "  breaking  Lent.  "  At  Fontenay, 
one  of  their  priests,  the  Curé  Barbotin,  struck  down  an 

i  Vol.  ii.  p.  187.  2  ibid.,  p.  434. 


THEIR  LIFE  IN   WARFARE.  227 

old  man  by  a  sabre  stroke.  At  Saint-Germain -sur-Ille, 
one  of  their  captains,  a  nobleman,  shot  the  solicitor  of 
the  commune  and  took  his  watch.  At  Machecoul,  for 
five  weeks  they  shot  republicans  at  the  rate  of  thirty  a 
day,  setting  them  in  a  row,  which  was  called  "  the 
rosary.  "  Back  of  the  line  was  a  trench,  into  which 
some  of  the  victims  fell  alive  ;  they  were  buried  all  the 
same.  We  have  seen  a  revival  of  such  actions.  Jou- 
bert,  the  President  of  the  district,  had  his  hands  sawed 
off.  They  put  sharp  handcuffs,  forged  expressly,  on  the 
Blues  whom  they  made  prisoners.  They  massacred  them 
in  the  public  places,  with  the  hunting  cry,  "  In  at  the 
death  !  " 

Charette,  who  signed  "  Fraternity,  the  Chevalier 
Charette,  "  and  who  wore  for  head-covering  a  handker- 
chief knotted  about  his  brows  after  Marat's  fashion, 
^urned  the  city  of  Pornic,  and  the  inhabitants  in  their 
houses.  During  that  time  Carrier  was  horrible.  Terror 
replied  to  terror.  The  Breton  insurgent  had  almost  the 
appearance  of  a  Greek  rebel,  with  his  short  jacket,  his 
gun  slung  over  his  shoulder,  his  leggings,  and  large 
breeches  similar  to  the  fustanella.  The  peasant  lad  re- 
sembled the  klepht. 

Henri  de  la  Eochejacquelein,  at  the  age  of  one-and- 
twenty,  set  out  for  this  war  armed  with  a  stick  and  a 
pair  of  pistols.  The  Vendean  army  counted  a  hundred 
and  fifty-four  divisions.  They  undertook  regular  sieges  ; 
they  held  Bressuire  invested  for  three  days.  One  Good 
Friday  ten  thousand  peasants  cannonaded  the  town  of 
Sables  with  red-hot  balls.  They  succeeded  in  a  single 
day  in  destroying  fourteen  republican  cantons,  from 
Montigné  to  Courbeveilles.  On  the  high  wall  of  Thouars 
this  dialogue  was  heard  between  La  Eochejacquelein  and 
a  peasant  lad  as  they  stood  below  :  — 

"  Charles  Ï  " 


228  NINETY-THREE. 

•  Here  I  am.  " 

"  Stand  so  that  I  can  mount  on  your  shoulders.  " 

"  Jump  up.  " 

"  Your  gun.  " 

"  Take  it.  " 

And  Eochejacquelein  leaped  into  the  town,  and  the 
towers  which  Duguesclin  had  besieged  were  taken  with- 
out the  aid  of  ladders. 

They  preferred  a  cartridge  to  a  gold  louis.  They  wept 
when  they  lost  sight  of  their  village  belfry.  To  run 
away  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  them;  at  such  times 
the  leaders  would  cry  :  "  Throw  off  your  sabots,  but  keep 
your  guns.  "  When  munitions  were  wanting,  they 
counted  their  rosaries  and  rushed  forth  to  seize  the  pow- 
der in  the  caissons  of  the  republican  artillery  ;  later, 
D'Elbée  demanded  powder  from  the  English.  If  they  had 
wounded  men  among  them,  at  the  approach  of  the  enemy 
they  concealed  these  in  the  grain-fields  or  among  the 
ferns,  and  went  back  in  search  of  them  when  the  fight 
was  ended.  They  had  no  uniforms.  Their  garments 
were  torn  to  bits.  Peasants  and  nobles  wrapped  them- 
selves in  any  rags  they  could  find.  Eoger  Mouliniers 
wore  a  turban  and  a  pelisse  taken  from  the  wardrobe  of 
the  theatre  of  La  Flèche  ;  the  Chevalier  de  Beauvilliers 
wore  a  barrister's  gown,  and  set  a  woman's  bonnet  on  his 
head  over  a  woollen  cap.  All  wore  the  white  belt  and 
a  scarf  ;  different  grades  were  marked  by  the  knots  ; 
Stofflet  had  a  red  knot  ;  La  Eochejacquelein  had  a  black 
isnot  ;  Wimpfen,  who  was  half  a  Girondist,  and  who  for 
that  matter  never  left  Normandy,  wore  the  leather  jacket 
of  the  Carabots  of  Caen.  They  had  women  in  their 
ranks,  —  Madame  de  Lescure,  who  became  Madame  de 
la  Eochejacquelein;  Thérèse  de  Mollien,  the  mistress 
of  La  Eouarie  (she  who  burned  the  list  of  the  chiefs  of 
the  parishes)  ;  Madame  de  la  Eochefoucauld  (beautiful, 


THEIR  LIFE   IN   WARFARE.  229 

young),  who,  sabre  in  hand,  rallied  the  peasants  at  the 
foot  of  the  great  tower  of  the  castle  of  Puy  Eousseau  ; 
and  that  Antoinette  Adams,  styled  the  Chevalier  Adams, 
who  was  so  brave  that  when  captured  she  was  shot 
standing,   out  of  respect  for  her  courage. 

This  epic  period  was  a  cruel  one.  Men-  were  mad. 
Madame  de  Lescure  made  her  horse  tread  upon  the  re- 
publicans stretched  on  the  ground  :  dead,  she  averred, 
—  only  wounded  perhaps.  Sometimes  the  men  proved 
traitors  ;  the  women  never.  Mademoiselle  Fleury,  of 
the  Théâtre  Français,  went  from  La  Eouarie  to  Marat  ; 
but  it  was  for  love.  The  captains  were  often  as  ignorant 
as  the-  soldiers.  Monsieur  de  Sapinaud  could  not  spell  ; 
he  was  at  fault  in  regard  to  the  orthography  of  the  com- 
monest word.  There  was  enmity  among  the  leaders  ; 
the  captains  of  the  Marais  cried,  "  Down  with  those  of 
the  High  Country  !  "  Their  cavalry  was  not  numerous, 
and  difficult  to  form.  Puysaye  writes  :  "  Many  a  man 
who  would  cheerfully  give  me  his  two  sons  grows  luke- 
warm if  I  ask  for  one  of  his  horses.  "  Poles,  pitchforks, 
reaping-hooks,  guns,  old  and  new,  poachers'  knives, 
spits,  cudgels  bound  and  studded  with  iron,  —  these 
were  their  arms  ;  some  of  them  carried  slung  round  them 
crosses  made  of  dead  men's  bones.  They  rushed  to  an 
attack  with  loud  cries,  springing  up  suddenly  from 
every  quarter,  from  the  woods,  the  hills,  the  bushes,  the 
hollows  of  the  roads,  —  killing,  exterminating,  destroy- 
ing ;  then  were  gone.  When  they  marched  through 
a  republican  town  they  cut  down  the  liberty  pole,  set 
it  on  fire,  and  danced  in  circles  about  it  as  it  burned. 
All  their  habits  were  nocturnal.  The  Yendean  rule 
was  always  to  appear  unexpectedly.  They  would  march 
fifteen  leagues  in  silence,  not  so  much  as  stirring  a  blade 
of  grass  as  they  went.  When  evening  came,  after  the 
chiefs  had  settled  what  republican  posts  should  be  sur- 


230  NINETY-THREE. 

prised  on  the  morrow,  the  men  loaded  their  guns,  mum- 
bled their  prayers,  pulled  off  their  sabots,  and  filed  in 
long  columns  through  the  woods,  marching  barefoot 
across  the  heath  and  moss,  without  a  sound,  without  a 
word,  without  a  breath.  It  was  like  the  march  of  cats 
through  the  darkness. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

THE   SPIRIT   OF   THE   PLACE   PASSES   INTO   THE   MAN. 

THE  Vendée  in  insurrection  did  not  number  less  than 
five  hundred  thousand,  counting  men,  women,  and 
children.  A  half-million  of  combatants  is  the  sum  total 
given  by  Tuffin  de  la  Eouarie. 

The  federalists  helped  them  ;  the  Vendée  had  tha 
Gironde  for  accomplice.  La  Lozère  sent  thirty  thousand 
men  into  the  Bocage.  Eight  departments  coalesced,  — 
five  in  Brittany,  three  in  Normandy.  Evreux,  which 
fraternized  with  Caen,  was  represented  in  the  rebellion 
by  Chaumont  its  mayor,  and  Gardembas  a  man  of  note. 
Buzot,  Gorsas,  and  Barbaroux  at  Caen,  Brissot  at  Mou- 
lins, Chassan  at  Lyons,  Rabaut-Saint-Étienne  at  Nismes, 
Meillen  and  Duchâtel  in  Brittany,  — •  all  these  mouths 
blew  the  furnace. 

There  were  two  Vendees,  —  the  great,  which  carried 
on  the  war  of  the  forests  ;  and  the  little,  which  waged 
the  war  of  the  thickets.  It  is  that  shade  which  sepa- 
rates Charette  from  Jean  Chouan.  The  little  Vendée 
was  honest,  the  great  corrupt;  the  little  was  much 
better.  Charette  was  made  a  marquis,  lieutenant- 
general  of  the  king's  armies,  and  received  the  great 
cross  of  Saint  Louis,  Jean  Chouan  remained  Jean 
Chouan.  Charette  borders  on  the  bandit  ;  Jean  Chouan 
on  the  paladin. 

As  to  the  magnanimous  chiefs  Bonchamps,  Lescure, 
La  Eochejacquelein,  —  they  deceived  themselves.     The 


232  NINETY-THREE. 

grand  Catholic  army  was  an  insane  attempt;  disastei 
could  not  fail  to  follow  it.  Let  any  one  imagine  a  tem- 
pest of  peasants  attacking  Paris,  a  coalition  of  villages 
besieging  the  Pantheon,  a  troop  of  herdsmen  flinging 
themselves  upon  a  host  governed  by  the  light  of  intel- 
lect. Le  Mans  and  Savenay  chastised  this  madness.  It 
was  impossible  for  the  Vendée  to  cross  the  Loire;  she 
could  do  everything  except  that  leap.  Civil  war  does 
not  conquer.  To  pass  the  Khine  establishes  a  Csesar 
and  strengthens  a  Napoleon  ;  to  cross  the  Loire  killed 
La  Eochejacquelein.  The  real  strength  of  Vendée  was 
Vendée  at  home;  there  she  was  invulnerable,  uncon- 
querable. The  Vendean  at  home  was  smuggler,  labourer, 
soldier,  shepherd,  poacher,  sharp-shooter,  goatherd,  bell- 
ringer,  peasant,  spy.  assassin,  sacristan,  wild  beast  of 
the  wood. 

La  Eochejacquelein  is  only  Achilles  ;  Jean  Chouan  is 
Proteus. 

The  rebellion  of  the  Vendée  failed.  Other  revolts  have 
succeeded,  —  that  of  Switzerland,  for  example.  There 
is  this  difference  between  the  mountain  insurgent  like 
the  Swiss  and  the  forest  insurgent  like  the  Vendean, — 
that  almost  always  the  one  fights  for  an  ideal,  the  other 
for  a  prejudice.  The  one  soars,  the  other  crawls  ;  the 
one  combats  for  humanity,  the  other  for  solitude  ;  the 
one  desires  liberty,  the  other  wishes  isolation  ;  the  one 
defends  the  commune,  the  other  the  parish,  — ■  "  Com- 
munes !  Communes  !  "  cried  the  heroes  of  Morat  ;  the 
one  has  to  deal  with  precipices,  the  other  with  quag- 
mires; the  one  is  the  man  of  torrents  and  foaming 
streams,  the  other  of  stagnant  puddles  where  pestilence 
lurks  ;  the  one  has  his  head  in  the  blue  sky,  the  other 
in  the  thicket  ;  the  one  is  on  a  summit,  the  other  in  a 
shadow. 

The  education  of  heights  and  shallows  is  very  differ- 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PLACE  PASSES  INTO  THE  MAN.      233 

ent.  The  mountain  is  a  citadel  ;  the  forest  is  an  ambus 
cade  :  one  inspires  audacity,  the  other  teaches  trickery. 
Antiquity  placed  the  gods  on  heights  and  the  satyrs  in 
copses.  The  satyr  is  the  savage,  half  man,  half  brute. 
Free  countries  have  Apennines,  Alps,  Pyrenees,  and 
Olympus.  Parnassus  is  a  mountain.  Mont  Blanc  is 
the  colossal  auxiliary  of  William  Tell.  Below  and 
above  those  immense  struggles  of  souls  against  the  night 
which  fills  the  poems  of  India,  the  Himalayas  may  be 
seen.  Greece,  Spain,  Italy,  Helvetia  have  for  their 
likeness  the  mountain  ;  Cimmeria,  Germany,  Brittany 
has  the  wood.      The  forest  is  barbarous. 

The  configuration  of  soil  decides  many  of  man's  ac- 
tions. The  earth  is  more  his  accomplice  than  people 
believe.  In  presence  of  certain  savage  landscapes  one 
is  tempted  to  exonerate  man  and  criminate  creation. 
One  feels  a  certain  hidden  provocation  on  the  part  of 
Nature  ;  the  desert  is  sometimes  unhealthy  for  the 
conscience,  especially  for  the  conscience  that  is  little 
illuminated.  Conscience  may  be  a  giant. —  then  she  pro- 
duces a  Socrates,  a  Christ  ;  she  may  be  a  dwarf,  —  then 
she  moulds  Atreus  and  Judas.  The  narrow  conscience 
becomes  quickly  reptile  in  its  instincts  :  forests  where 
twilight  reigns;  the  bushes,  the  thorns,  the  marshes 
beneath  the  branches,  —  all  have  a  fatal  attraction  for 
her;  she  undergoes  the  mysterious  infiltration  of  evil 
persuasions.  Optical  illusions,  unexplained  mirages, 
the  terrors  of  the  hour  or  the  scene,  throw  man  into 
this  sort  of  fright, — half  religious,  half  bestial,  which 
engenders  superstition  in  ordinary  times,  and  brutality 
at  violent  epochs.  Hallucinations  hold  the  torch  which 
lights  the  road  to  murder.  The  brigand  is  dizzied  by  a 
vertigo.  Nature  in  her  immensity  has  a  double  mean- 
ing, which  dazzles  great  minds  and  blinds  savage  souls. 
When  man  is  ignorant,  when  his  desert  is  peopled  with 


234  NINETY-THREE. 

visions,  the  obscurity  of  solitude  adds  itself  to  the  obsciu 
rity  of  intelligence;  hence  come  depths  in  the  human 
soul,  black  and  profound  as  an  abyss.  Certain  rocks, 
certain  ravines,  certain  thickets,  certain  wild  openings 
in  the  trees  through  which  night  looks  down,  push  men 
on  to  mad  and  atrocious  actions.  One  might  almost 
say  that  there  are  places  which  are  the  home  of  the 
spirit  of  evil.  How  many  tragic  sights  have  been 
watched  by  the  sombre  hill  between  Baignon  and  Phé- 
lan!  Vast  horizons  lead  the  soul  on  to  wide,  general 
ideas;  circumscribed  horizons  engender  narrow,  one- 
sided conceptions,  which  condemn  great  hearts  to  be 
little  in  point  of  soul.  Jean  Chouan  was  an  example  of 
this  truth.  Broad  ideas  are  hated  by  partial  ideas;  this 
is  in  fact  the  struggle  of  progress. 

Neighbourhood,  country,  —  these  two  words  sum  up 
the  whole  of  the  Vendean  war  :  a  quarrel  of  the  local 
idea  against  the  universal;  of  the  peasant  against  the 
patriot. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

LA  VENDÉE   ENDED   BRITTANY. 

KITTANY  is  an  ancient  rebel.  .  Each  time  she  re- 
volted during  two  thousand  years 'she  was  in  the 
right  ;  but  the  last  time  she  was  wrong.  Still,  at  bot- 
tom (against  the  revolution  as  against  monarchy,  against 
the  acting  Eepresentatives  as  against  governing  dukes 
and  peers,  against  the  rule  of  assignats  as  against  the 
sway  of  excise  officers  ;  whosoever  might  be  the  men 
that  fought,  Nicolas  Eapin,  François  de  la  Noue,  Cap- 
tain Pluviaut,  the  Lady  of  La  Garnache  or  Stofflet, 
Coquereau,  and  Lechandelier  de  Pierreville  ;  under  De 
"Rohan  against  the  king,  and  under  La  Eochejacquelein 
for  the  king)  it  was  always  the  same  war  that  Brittany 
waged,  —  the  war  of  the  Local  Spirit  against  the  Cen- 
tral. Those  ancient  provinces  were  ponds  ;  that  stag- 
nant water  could  not  bear  to  flow  ;  the  wind  which 
swept  across  did  not  revivify,  —  it  irritated  them.  . 
Finistère  formed  the  bounds  of  France  :  there  the 
space  given  to  man  ended,  and  the  march  of  genera- 
tions stopped.  "  Halt  !  "  the  ocean  cried  to  the  land,  to 
barbarism  and  to  civilization.  Each  time  that  the  cen- 
tre —  Paris  —  gives  an  impulse,  whether  that  impulse 
come  from  royalty  or  republicanism,  whether  it  be  in 
the  interest  of  despotism  or  liberty,  it  is  something  new, 
and  Brittany  bristles  up  against  it.  "  Leave  us  in  peace  ! 
What  is  it  they  want  of  us  ?  "  The  Marais  seizes  the 
pitchfork,  the  Bocage  its  carbine.  All  our  attempts, 
our  initiative  movement  in  legislation  «and  in  education, 


236  NINETY-THREE. 

our  encyclopedias,  our  philosophies,  our  genius,  oui 
glories,  all  fail  before  the  Houroux;  the  tocsin  of 
Bazouges  menaces  the  French  Kevolution,  the  moor  of 
Eaou  rises  in  rebellion  against  the  voice  of  our  towns, 
and  the  bell  of  the  Haut-des-Prés  declares  war  against 
the  Tower  of  the  Louvre. 

Terrible  blindness  I  The  Vendean  insurrection  was 
the  result  of  a  fatal  misunderstanding. 

A  colossal  scuffle,  a  jangling  of  Titans,  an  immeasur- 
able rebellion,  destined  to  leave  in  history  only  one 
word,  —  the  Vendée,  —  word  illustrious  yet  dark  ;  com- 
mitting suicide  for  the  absent,  devoted  to  egotism,  pas- 
sing its  time  in  making  to  cowardice  the  offer  of  a 
boundless  bravery  ;  without  calculation,  without  strat- 
egy, without  tactics,  without  plan,  without  aim,  with- 
out chief,  without  responsibility  ;  showing  to  what 
extent  Will  can  be  impotent  ;  chivalric  and  savage  ; 
absurdity  at  its  climax,  a  building  up  a  barrier  of  black 
shadows  against  the  light  ;  ignorance  making  a  long  re- 
sistance at  once  idiotic  and  superb  against  justice,  right, 
reason,  and  deliverance  ;  the  terror  of  eight  years,  the 
rendering  desolate  fourteen  departments,  the  devastation 
of  fields,  the  destruction  of  harvests,  the  burning  of 
villages,  the  ruin  of  cities,  the  pillage  of  houses,  the 
massacre  of  women  and  children,  the  torch  in  the 
thatch,  the  sword  in  the  heart,  the  terror  of  civilization, 
the  hope  of  Mr.  Pitt,  —  such  was  this  war,  the  unrea- 
soning effort  of  the  parricide. 

In  short,  by  proving  the  necessity  of  perforating  in 
every  direction  the  old  Breton  shadows,  and  piercing 
this  thicket  with  arrows  of  light  from  every  quarter  at 
once,  the  Vendée  served  Progress.  The  catastrophes  had 
their  uses. 


BOOK    IL 

THE  THREE  CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PLUSQUAM  CIVILIA   BELLA. 

THE  summer  of  1792  had  been  very  rainy  ;  the  sum- 
mer of  1793  was  dry  and  hot.  In  consequence  of 
the  civil  war,  there  were  no  roads  left,  so  to  speak,  in 
Brittany.  Still  it  was  possible  to  get  about,  thanks  to 
the  beauty  of  the  season.  Dry  fields  make  an  easy 
route. 

At  the  close  of  a  lovely  July  day,  about  an  hour  before 
sunset,  a  man  on  horseback,  who  came  from  the  direction 
of  Avranches,  drew  rein  before  the  little  inn  called  the 
Croix-Branchard,  which  stood  at  the  entrance  of  Pontor- 
son,  and  which  for  years  past  had  borne  this  inscription 
on  its  sign  :  "  Good  cider  on  draught.  "  It  had  been  warm 
all  day,  but  the  wind  was  beginning  now  to  rise. 

The  traveller  was  enveloped  in  an  ample  cloak  which 
covered  the  back  of  his  horse.  He  wore  a  broad  hat 
with  a  tricoloured  cockade,  which  was  a  sufficiently 
bold  thing  to  do  in  this  country  of  hedges  and  gunshots, 
where  a  cockade  was  a  target.  The  cloak,  fastened 
about  his  neck,  was  thrown  back  to  leave  his  arms  free, 
and  beneath  glimpses  could  be  had  of  a  tricoloured  sash 
and  two  pistols  thrust  in  it,  A  sabre  hung  down  below 
the  cloak. 


238  NINETY-THREE. 

At  the  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  the  door  of  the  inn 
opened  and  the  landlord  appeared,  a  lantern  in  his 
hand.  It  was  the  intermediate  hour  between  day  and 
night  :  still  light  along  the  highway,  but  dark  in  the 
house.      The  host  looked    at  the  cockade. 

"  Citizen,  "  said  he,  "  do  you  stop  here  ?  " 

"  No.  " 

"  Where  are  you  going,  then  ?  " 

"  To  Dol.  " 

"  In  that  case  go  back  to  Avranches  or  remain  at 
Pontorson.  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  there  is  fighting  at  Dol.  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  horseman. 

Then  he  added,  — 

"  Give  my  horse  some  oats.  " 

The  host  brought  the  trough,  emptied  a  measure  of 
oats  into  it,  and  took  the  bridle  off  the  horse,  which 
began  to  snuff  and  eat. 

The  dialogue  continued  :  — 

"  Citizen,  has  that  horse  been  seized  ?  " 

"  No.  " 

"  It  belongs  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  bought  and  paid  for  it.  " 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  * 

«  Paris.  " 

■  Not  direct  ?  " 

■  No.  " 

"  I  should  think  not'!  The  roads  are  closed,  but 
the  post  runs  still.  " 

"  As  far  as  Alençon.     I  left  it  there.  " 

"  Ah  !  Very  soon  there  will  be  no  longer  any  posts  in 
France.  There  are  no  more  horses.  A  horse  worth 
three  hundred  livres  costs  six  hundred,  and  fodder  is 
beyond  all  price.     I  have  been  postmaster,  and  now  I 


FLUSQUAM  CIVILIA  BELLA.  239 

am  keeper  of  a  cookshop.  Out  of  thirteen  hundred  and 
thirteen  postmasters  that  there  used  to  be,  two  hundred 
have  resigned.  Citizen,  you  travelled  according  to  the 
new  tariff?" 

"  That  of  the  1st  of  May —  yes.  " 

"  Twenty  sous  a  post  for  a  carriage,  twelve  for  a 
gig,  five  sous  for  a  van.  You  bought  your  horse  at 
Alençon  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  You  have  ridden  all  day  ?  " 

"  Since  dawn.  " 

"  And  yesterday  ?  " 

"  And  the  day  before.  " 

"  I  can  see  that.  You  came  by  Domfront  and 
Mortain.  " 

"  And  Avranches.  " 

"  Take  my  advice,  citizen  ;  rest  yourself.  You  must 
be  tired.     Your  horse  is  certainly.  " 

w  Horses  have  a  right  to  be  tired  ;  men  have  not.  " 

The  host  again  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  traveller,  whose 
face  was  grave,  calm,  and  severe,  and  framed  by  grey 
hair. 

The  innkeeper  cast  a  glance  along  the  road,  which 
was  deserted  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  said, — 

*  And  you  travel  alone  in  this  fashion  ?" 

"  I  have  an  escort.  " 

■  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  My  sabre  and  pistols.  " 

The  innkeeper  brought  a  bucket  of  water,  and  while 
the  horse  was  drinking,  studied  the  traveller,  and  said 
mentally  :  "  All  the  same,  he  has  the  look  of  a  priest.  " 

The  horseman  resumed  :  "  You  say  there  is  fighting 
at  Do!  ?  " 

"  Yes.     That  ought  to  be  about  beginning.  ■ 

"Who  is  fighting?" 


240  NINETY-THREE. 

"  One  ci-devant  against  another  ci-devant  n 

u  You  said—  " 

"  I  say  that  an  ex-noble  who  is  for  the  Kepublic  is 
fighting  against  another  ex-noble  who  is  for  the  king.  * 

"  But  there  is  no  longer  a  king.  " 

"  There  is  the  little  fellow  !  The  odd  part  of  the 
business  is  that  these  two  ci-devants  are  relations.  " 

The  horseman  listened  attentively.  The  innkeeper 
continued  :  — 

"  One  is  young,  the  other  old.  It  is  the  grand-nephew 
who  fights  the  great-uncle.  The  uncle  is  a  royalist,  the 
nephew  a  patriot.  The  uncle  commands  the  Whites, 
the  nephew  commands  the  Blues.  Ah,  they  will  show 
no  quarter,  I  '11  warrant  you.     It  is  a  war  to  the  death.  * 

"  Death  ?  " 

K  Yes,  citizen.     Hold  !   would  you  like  to  see  the  corn 
pliments  they  fling  at  each  other's  heads?     Here  is  a 
notice  the  old  man  finds  means  to  placard  everywhere, 
on  all  the  houses  and  all  the  trees,  and  that  he  has  had 
stuck  up  on  my  very  door.  " 

The  host  held  up  his  lantern  to  a  square  of  paper  fas- 
tened on  a  panel  of  the  double  door,  and  as  the  placard 
was  written  in  large  characters,  the  traveller  could  read 
it  as  he  sat  on  his  horse  :  — 

"  The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  has  the  honour  of  informing  his 
grand-nephew,  the  Viscount  Gauvain,  that,  if  the  Marquis 
has  the  good  fortune  to  seize  his  person,  he  will  cause  the 
Viscount  to  be  decently  shot." 

"  Here,  "  added  the  host,  "  is  the  reply.  " 
He  went  forward,  and  threw  the  light  of  the  lantern 
upon  a  second  placard  placed  on  a  level  with  the  first  upon 
the  other  leaf  of  the  door.      The  traveller  read  :  — 

"  Gauvain  warns  Lantenac  that,  if  he  take  him,  he  will 
h^ve  him  shot." 


PLUSQUAM  CIVILIA  BELLA.  241 

*  Yesterday,  "  said  the  host,  "  the  first  placard  was 
stuck  on  my  door,  and  this  morning  the  second.  There 
was  no  waiting  for  the  answer.  " 

The  traveller  in  a  half-voice,  and  as  if  speaking  to 
himself,  uttered  these  words,  which  the  innkeeper  heard 
without  really  comprehending, — 

"  Yes  ;  this  is  more  than  war  in  the  country  ;  it  is  war 
in  families.  It  is  necessary,  and  it  is  well.  The  grand 
restoration  of  the  people  must  be  bought  at  this  price.  " 

And  the  traveller  raised  his  hand  to  his  hat  and 
saluted  the  second  placard,  on  which  his  eyes  were  still 
fixed. 

The  host  continued  :  — 
"  So,  citizen,  you  understand  how  the  matter  lies.  In 
the  cities  and  the  large  towns  we  are  for  the  Revolution, 
in  the  country  they  are  against  it  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
towns  people  are  Frenchmen,  and  in  the  villages  they 
are  Bretons.  It  is  a  war  of  the  townspeople  against  the 
peasants.  They  call  us  clowns,  we  call  them  boors. 
The  nobles  and  the  priests  are  with  them.  " 

"  Not  all,  "  interrupted  the  horseman. 

"  Certainly  not,  citizen,  since  we  have  here  a  viscount 
against  a  marquis.  " 

Then  he  added  to  himself  :  "  And  I  feel  sure  I  am 
speaking  to  a  priest.  " 

The  horseman  continued  :  "  And  which  of  the  two  has 
the  best  of  it  ?  " 

The  viscount  so  far.  But  he  has  to  work  hard.  The 
old  man  is  a  tough  one.  They  belong  to  the  Gauvain 
family,  —  nobles  of  these  parts.  It  is  a  family  with  two 
branches  :  there  is  the  great  branch,  whose  chief  is  called 
the  Marquis  de  Lantenac  ;  and  there  is  the  lesser  branch, 
whose  head  is  called  the  Viscount  Gauvain.  To-day  the 
two  branches  fight  each  other.  One  does  not  see  that 
among  trees,  but  one  sees  it  among  men.     This  Marquis 


242  NINETY-THREE. 

de  Lantenac  is  all-powerful  in  Brittany;  the  peasants 
consider  him  a  prince.  The  very  day  he  landed,  eight 
thousand  men  joined  him;  in  a  week,  three  hundred 
parishes  had  risen.  If  he  had  been  able  to  get  foothold 
on  the  coast,  the  English  would  have  landed.  Luckily 
this  Gauvain  was  at  hand,  —  the  other's  grand-nephew  : 
odd  chance  !  He  is  the  republican  commander,  and  he 
has  checkmated  his  grand-uncle.  And  then,  as  good 
luck  would  have  it,  when  this  Lantenac  arrived,  and 
was  massacring  a  heap  of  prisoners,  he  had  two  women 
shot,  one  of  whom  had  three  children  that  had  been 
adopted  by  a  Paris  battalion.  And  that  made  a  terrible 
battalion;  they  call  themselves  the  Battalion  of  the 
Bonnet  Eouge.  There  are  not  many  of  those  Parisians 
left,  but  they  are  furious  bayonets.  They  have  been 
incorporated  into  the  division  of  Commandant  Gau- 
vain; nothing  can  stand  against  them.  They  mean  to 
avenge  the  women  and  retake  the  children,  Nobody 
knows  what  the  old  man  has  done  with  the  little  ones  : 
that  is  what  enraged  the  Parisian  grenadiers.  Suppose 
those  babies  had  not  been  mixed  up  in  the  matter,  the 
war  would  not  be  what  it  is.  The  viscount  is  a  good, 
brave  young  man  ;  but  the  old  fellow  is  a  terrible  mar- 
quis. The  peasants  call  it  the  war  of  Saint  Michael 
against  Beelzebub.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  Saint 
Michael  is  an  angel  of  the  district  ;  there  is  a  mountain 
named  after  him  out  in  the  bay  ;  they  say  he  overcame 
the  demon,  and  buried  him  under  another  mountain 
near  here,  which  is  called  Tombelaine.  " 

"  Yes,  "  murmured  the  horseman  ;  "  Tumba  Beleni,  the 
tomb  of  Belenus,  — Belus,  Bel,  Belial,  Beelzebub." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  well  informed.  "  And  the  host 
again  spoke  to  himself  :  "  He  understands  Latin  !  De- 
cidedly he  is  a  priest.  "  Then  he  resumed  :  "  Well,  citi- 
zen, for  the  peasants  it  is  that  war  beginning  over  again. 


PLUSQUAM  CIVILIA  BELLA,  243 

For  them  the  royalist  general  is  Saint  Michael,  and 
Beelzebub  is  the  republican  commander.  But  if  there 
is  a  devil,  it  is  certainly  Lantenac;  and  if  there  is  an 
angel,  it  is  Gauvain.    You  will  take  nothing,  citizen  ?  " 

"  I  have  my  gourd  and  a  bit  of  bread.      But  you  do 
not  tell  me  what  is  passing  at  Dol  !  " 

"  This.  Gauvain  commands  the  exploring  column  of 
the  coast.  Lantenac 's  aim  was  to  rouse  a  general  in- 
surrection, and  sustain  Lower  Brittany  by  the  aid  of 
Lower  Normandy,  open  the  door  to  Pitt,  and  give  a 
shove  forward  to  the  Vendean  army,  with  twenty  thou- 
sand English,  and  two  hundred  thousand  peasants. 
Gauvain  cut  this  plan  short  :  he  holds  the  coast,  and  he 
drives  Lantenac  into  the  interior  and  the  English  into 
the  sea.  Lantenac  was  here,  and  Gauvain  has  dislodged 
him  ;  has  taken  from  him  the  Pont-au-Beau,  has  driven 
him  out  of  Avranches,  chased  him.  out  of  Villedieu,  and 
kept  him  from  reaching  Granville.  He  is  manoeuvring 
to  shut  him  up  again  in  the  forest  of  Fougères,  and  to 
surround  him.  Yesterday  everything  was  going  well; 
Gauvain  was  here  with  his  division.  All  of  a  sudden, 
an  alarm  !  the  old  man,  who  is  skilful,  made  a  point  ; 
information  comes  that  he  has  marched  on  Dol.  If  he 
takes  Dol,  and  establishes  a  battery  on  Mount  Dol  (for 
he  has  cannon),  then  there  will  be  a  place  on  the  coast 
where  the  English  can  land,  and  everything  is  lost. 
That  is  why,  as  there  was  not  a  minute  to  lose,  that 
Gauvain,  who  is  a  man  with  a  head,  took  counsel  with 
nobody  but  himself,  asked  no  orders  and  waited  for 
none,  but  sounded  the  signal  to  saddle,  put  to  his  artil- 
lery, collected  his  troop,  drew  his  sabre,  and  while 
Lantenac  throws  himself  on  Dol,  Gauvain  throws  him- 
self on  Lantenac.  It  is  at  Dol  that  these  two  Breton 
heads  will  knock  together.  There  will  be  a  fine  shock. 
They  are  at  it  now.  " 


244  NINETY-THREE. 

■  How  long  does  it  take  to  get  to  Dol  ?  * 

"  At  least  three  hours  for  a  troop  with  cannon  ;  but 
they  are  there  now.  " 

The  traveller  listened,  and  said  :  "  In  fact,  I  think  .1 
hear  cannon.  " 

The  host  listened.  "  Yes,  citizen  ;  and  the  musketry. 
They  have  opened  the  ball.  You  would  do  well  to  pass 
the  night  here.  There  will  be  nothing  good  to  catch 
over  there.  " 

"  I  cannot  stop.      I  must  keep  on  my  road.  " 

"  You  are  wrong.  I  do  not  know  your  business  :  but 
the  risk  is  great,  and  unless  it  concern  what  you  hold 
dearest  in  the  world  —  " 

"  In  truth,  it  is  that  which  is  concerned,  "  said  the 
cavalier. 

"  Something  like  your  son  —  " 

"  Very  nearly  that,  "  said  the  cavalier. 

The  innkeeper  raised  his  head,  and  said  to  himself . 
"  Still  this  citizen  gives  me  the  impression  of  being  a 
priest.  "  Then,  after  a  little  reflection  :  "  All  the  same, 
a  priest  may  have  children.  " 

"  Put  the  bridle  back  on  my  horse,  "  said  the  traveller. 
*  How  much  do  I  <  we  you  ?  "     He  paid  the  man. 

The  host  set  the  trough  and  the  bucket  back  against 
the  wall,  and  returned  toward  the  horseman.  "  Since 
you  are  determined  to  go,  listen  to  my  advice.  It  is 
clear  that  you  are  going  to  Saint  Malo.  Well,  do  not 
pass  by  Dol.  There  are  two  roads,  —  the  road  by  Dol, 
and  the  road  along  the  sea-shore.  There  is  scarcely  any 
difference  in  their  length.  The  sea-shore  road  passes  by 
Saint-Georges-de-Brehaigne,  Cherrueix,  and  Hirèlle- 
Vivier.  You  leave  Dol  to  the  south  and  Cancale  to  the 
north.  Citizen,  at  the  end  of  the  street  you  will  find 
the  branching  off  of  the  two  routes  ;  that  of  Dol  is  on 
the  left,  that  of  Saint-Georges-de-Brehaigne  on  the  right. 


PLUSQUAM  CIVILIA  BELLA.  245 

Listen  well  to  me  :  if  you  go  by  Dol,  you  will  fall  into 
the  middle  of  the  massacre.  That  is  why  you  must  not 
take  to  the  left,  but  to  the  right.  " 

"  Thanks,  "  said  the  traveller.  He  spurred  his  horse 
forward.  The  obscurity  was  now  complete  ;  he  hurried 
on  into  the  night.     The  innkeeper  lost  sight  of  him. 

When  the  traveller  reached  the  end  of  the  street 
where  the  two  roads  branched  off,  he  heard  the  voice  of 
the  innkeeper  calling  to  him  from  afar,  — 

"  Take  the  right  !  " 

He  took  the  left. 


CHAPTEK  II 

DOL. 

DOL,  a  Spanish  city  of  France  in  Brittany,  as  the 
guide-books  style  it,  is  not  a  town  ;  it  is  a  street, 
—  a  great  old  Gothic  street,  bordered  all  the  way  on  the 
right  and  the  left  by  houses  with  pillars,  placed  irregu- 
larly, so  that  they  form  nooks  and  elbows  in  the  high- 
way, which  is  nevertheless  very  wide.  The  rest  of  the 
town  is  only  a  network  of  lanes,  attaching  themselves  to 
this  great  diametrical  street,  and  pouring  into  it  like 
brooks  into  a  river.  The  city,  without  gates  or  walls, 
open,  overlooked  by  Mount  Dol,  could  not  have  sus- 
tained a  siege  ;  but  the  street  might  have  sustained  one. 
The  promontories  of  houses,  which  were  still  to  be  seen 
fifty  years  back,  and  the  two-pillared  galleries  which 
bordered  the  street,  made  a  battle-ground  that  was  very 
strong  and  capable  of  offering  great  resistance.  Each 
house  was  a  fortress  in  fact,  and  it  would  be  necessary 
to  take  them  one  after  another.  The  old  market  was 
very  nearly  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 

The  innkeeper  of  the  Croix-Branchard  had  spoken 
truly,  —  a  mad  conflict  filled  Dol  at  the  moment  he  ut- 
tered the  words.  A  nocturnal  duel  between  the  Whites, 
that  morning  arrived,  and  the  Blues,  who  had  come 
upon  them  in  the  evening,  burst  suddenly  over  the 
town.  The  forces  were  unequal  :  the  Whites  numbered 
six  thousand  ;  there  were  only  fifteen  hundred  of  the 
Blues.     But   there   was   equality  in  point  of  obstinate 


dol.  247 

rage  ;  strange  to  say,  it  was  the  fifteen  hundred  who  had 
attacked  the  six  thousand. 

On  one  side  a  mob,  on  the  other  a  phalanx.  On  one 
side  six  thousand  peasants,  with  blessed  medals  on  their 
leather  vests,  white  ribbons  on  their  round  hats,  Christian 
devices  on  their  braces,  chaplets  at  their  belts,  carrying 
more  pitchforks  than  sabres,  carbines  without  bayonets, 
dragging  cannon  with  ropes  ;  badly  equipped,  ill  disci- 
plined, poorly  armed,  but  frantic.  In  opposition  to 
them  were  fifteen  hundred  soldiers,  wearing  three- 
cornered  hats,  coats  with  large  tails  and  wide  lapels, 
shoulder-belts  crossed,  copper-hilted  swords,  and  carry- 
ing guns  with  long  bayonets.  They  were  trained, 
skilled  ;  docile,  yet  fierce  ;  obeying  like  men  who  would 
know  how  to  command  :  volunteers  also,  shoeless  and  in 
rags  too,  but  volunteers  for  their  country.  On  the  side 
of  Monarchy,  peasants  who  were  paladins  ;  for  the  Revo- 
lution, barefooted  heroes,  and  each  troop  possessing  a 
soul  in  its  leader  :  the  royalists  having  an  old  man,  the 
republicans  a  young  one.  On  this  side,  Lantenac  ;  on 
the  other,   Gauvain. 

The  Revolution,  side  by  side  with  its  faces  of  youth, 
ful  giants  like  those  of  Danton,  Saint-Just,  and  Robes- 
pierre,  has  faces  of  ideal  youth,  like  those  of  Hoche  and 
Marceau.     Gauvain  was  one  of  these. 

He  was  thirty  years  old  ;  he  had  a  Herculean  bust,  the 
solemn  eye  of  a  prophet,  and  the  laugh  of  a  child.  He 
did  not  smoke,  he  did  not  drink,  he  did  not  swear.  He 
carried  a  dressing-case  through  the  whole  war  ;  he  took 
care  of  his  nails,  his  teeth,  and  his  hair,  which  was 
dark  and  luxuriant.  During  halts  he  himself  shook  in 
the  wind  his  military  coat,  riddled  with  bullets  and 
white  with  dust.  Though  always  rushing  headlong 
into  an  affray,  he  had  never  been  wounded.  His  sin- 
gularly sweet  voice  had  at  command  the  abrupt  imperi- 


248  NINETY-THREE. 

ousness  needed  by  a  leader.     He  set  the   example   of 

sleeping  on  the  ground,  in  the  wind,  the  rain,  and  the 
snow,  rolled  in  his  cloak  and  with  his  noble  head  pil- 
lowed on  a  stone.  His  was  a  heroic  and  innocent  soul. 
The  sabre  in  his  hand  transfigured  him.  He  had  that 
effeminate  air  which  in  battle  turns  into  something  for- 
midable. With  all  that,  a  thinker  and  a  philosopher,  a 
youthful  sage,  —  Alcibiades  in  appearance,  Socrates  in 
speech. 

In  that  immense  improvisation  of  the  French  Kevolu- 
tion  this  young  man  had  become  at  once  a  leader.  His 
division,  formed  by  himself,  was  like  a  Eoman  legion, 
a  kind  of  complete  little  army.  It  was  composed  of 
infantry  and  cavalry  ;  it  had  its  scouts,  its  pioneers,  its 
sappers,  pontoniers  ;  and  as  a  Eoman  legion  had  its  cata- 
pults, this  one  had  its  cannon.  Three  pieces,  well 
mounted,  rendered  the  column  strong,  while  leaving  it 
easy  to  guide. 

Lantenac  was  also  a  thorough  soldier,  —  a  more  con- 
summate one.  He  was  at  the  same  time  wary  and  hardy. 
Old  heroes  have  more  cold .  determination  than  young 
ones,  because  they  are  far  removed  from  the  warmth  of 
life's  morning;  more  audacity,  because  they  are  near 
death.  What  have  they  to  lose  ?  So  very  little.  Hence 
the  manœ  avres  of  Lantenac  were  at  once  rash  and  skil- 
ful. But  in  the  main,  and  almost  always,  in  this 
dogged  hand-to-hand  conflict  between  the  old  man  and 
the  young,  Gauvain  gained  the  advantage.  It  was 
rather  the  work  of  fortune  than  anything  else.  All 
good  luck  —  even  successes  which  are  in  themselves  ter- 
rible —  go  to  youth.     Victory  is  somewhat  of  a  woman. 

Lantenac  was  exasperated  against  Gauvain,  —  justly, 
because  Gauvain  fought  against  him;  in  the  second 
place,  because  he  was  of  his  kindred.  What  did  he 
mean  by  turning  Jacobin, — this  Gauvain,  this   mis- 


DOL.  249 

chievous  dog  !  his  heir  (for  the  marquis  had  no  chil- 
dren), his  grand-nephew,  almost  his  grandson  !  "  Ah,  " 
said  this  quasi-grandfather,  "  if  I  put  my  hand  on  him, 
I  will  kill  him  like  a  dog  !  " 

For  that  matter,  the  Eevolution  was  right  to  disquiet 
itself  in  regard  to  this  Marquis  de  Lantenac.  An  earth- 
quake followed  his  landing.  His  name  spread  through 
the  Vendean  insurrection  like  a  train  of  powder,  and 
Lantenac  at  once  became  the  centre.  In  a  revolt  of  that 
nature,  where  each  is  jealous  of  the  other,  and  each  has 
his  thicket  or  ravine,  the  arrival  of  a  superior  rallies 
the  scattered  leaders  who  have  been  equals  among  them- 
selves. Nearly  all  the  forest  captains  had  joined  Lante- 
nac, and,  whether  near  or  far  off,  they  obeyed  him.  One 
man  alone  had  departed  ;  it  was  the  first  who  had  joined 
him,  —  Gavard.  Wherefore  ?  Because  he  had  been  a  man 
of  trust.  Gavard  had  known  all  the  secrets  and  adopted 
all  the  plans  of  the  ancient  system  of  civil  war  ;  Lante- 
nac appeared  to  replace  and  supplant  him.  One  does 
not  inherit  from  a  man  of  trust  ;  the  shoe  of  La  Eonain 
did  not  fit  Lantenac.    Gavard  departed  to  join  Bonchamp. 

Lantenac,  as  a  military  man,  belonged  to  the  school 
of  Frederick  II.  ;  he  understood  combining  the  great 
war  with  the  little.  He  would  have  neither  a  "  con- 
fused mass  "  (like  the  great  Catholic  and  Eoyal  army),  a 
crowd  destined  to  be  crushed,  nor  a  troop  of  guerillas 
scattered  among  the  hedges  and  copses,  —  good  to  harass, 
impotent  to  destroy.  Guerilla  warfare  finishes  nothing, 
or  finishes  ill;  it  begins  by  attacking  a  republic  and 
ends  by  rifling  a  diligence.  Lantenac  did  not  compre- 
hend this  Breton  war  as  the  other  chiefs  had  done,  — 
neither  as  La  Eochejacquelin,  who  was  all  for  open 
country  campaigns;  nor  as  Jean  Chouan,  all  for  the 
forest.  He  would  have  neither  Vendée  nor  Chouan- 
nerie ;  he  wanted  real  warfare  :  he  would  make  use  oi 


250  NINETY-THREE. 

the  peasant,  but  he  meant  to  depend  on  the  soldier.  He 
wanted  bands  for  strategy  and  regiments  for  tactics. 
He  found  these  village  armies  admirable  for  attack,  for 
ambush  and  surprise,  quickly  gathered,  quickly  dis- 
persed ;  but  he  felt  that  they  lacked  solidity, —  they  were 
like  water  in  his  hand.  He  wanted  to  create  a  solid 
base  in  this  floating  and  diffused  war;  he  wanted  to  join 
to  the  savage  army  of  the  forests  regularly  drilled  troops 
that  would  make  a  pivot  about  which  he  could  manœu- 
vre the  peasants.  It  was  a  profound  and  terrible  con- 
ception ;  if  it  had  succeeded,  the  Vendée  would  have 
been  unconquerable. 

But  where  to  find  regular  troops  ?  Where  look  for 
soldiers,  where  seek  for  regiments,  where  discover  an 
army  ready  made?  In  England.  Hence  Lantenac's ^de- 
termined idea, — to  land  the  English.  Thus* the  con- 
science of  parties  compromises  with  itself.  The  white 
cockade  hid  the  red  uniform  from  Lantenac's  sight.  He 
had  only  one  thought,  —  to  get  possession  of  some  point 
on  the  coast,  and  deliver  it  up  to  Pitt.  That  was  why, 
seeing  Dol  defenceless,  he  flung  himself  upon  it  ;  the 
taking  of  the  town  would  give  him  Mount  Dol,  and 
Mount  Dol  the  coast. 

The  place  was  well  chosen.  The  cannon  of  Mount 
Dol  would  sweep  the  Fresnois  on  one  side  and  Saint- 
Brelade  on  the  other  ;  would  keep  the  cruisers  of  Can- 
cale  at  a  distance,  and  leave  the  whole  beach,  from 
Raz-sur-Couesnon  to  Saint-Mêloir-des-Oudes,  clear  for 
an  invasion.  For  the  carrying  out  of  this  decisive  at- 
tempt, Lantenac  had  brought  with  him  only  a  little 
over  six  thousand  men,  the  flower  of  the  bands  which 
he  had  at  his  disposal,  and  all  his  artillery,  —  ten  six- 
teen-pound culverins,  a  demi-culverin,  and  a  four- 
pounder.  His  idea  was  to  establish  a  strong  battery  on 
Mount  Dol,  upon  the  principle  that  a  thousand  shots 


DOL.  251 

fired  from  ten  cannon  do  more  execution  than  fifteen 
hundred  fired  with  five.  Success  appeared  certain.  They 
were  six  thousand  men.  Toward  Avranches,  they  had 
only  Gauvain  and  his  fifteen  hundred  men  to  fear,  and 
Léchelle  in  the  direction  of  Dinan.  It  was  true  that 
Léchelle  had  twenty-five  thousand  men,  but  he  was 
twenty  leagues  away.  So  Lantenac  felt  confidence  ;  on 
Léchelle  's  side  he  put  the  great  distance  against  the 
great  numbers;  with  Gauvain,  the  size  of  the  force 
against  their  propinquity.  Let  us  add  that  Léchelle 
was  an  idiot,  who  later  on  allowed  his  twenty-five  thou- 
sand men  to  be  exterminated  in  the  landes  of  the  Croix- 
Bataille, —  a  blunder  which  he  attoned  for  by  suicide. 

So  Lantenac  felt  perfect  security.  His  entrance  into 
Dol  was  sudden  and  stern.  The  Marquis  de  Lantenac 
had  a  stern  reputation;  he  was  known  to  be  without 
pity.  No  resistance  was  attempted.  The  terrified  in- 
habitants barricaded  themselves  in  their  houses.  The 
six  thousand  Yendeans  installed  themselves  in  the  town 
with  rustic  confusion  ;  it  was  almost  like  a  fair-ground, 
without  quartermasters,  without  allotted  camp,  bivouack- 
ing at  hazard,  cooking  in  the  open  air,  scattering  them- 
selves among  the  churches,  forsaking  their  guns  for  their 
rosaries.  Lanteuac  went  in  haste  with  some  artillery  offi- 
cers to  reconnoitre  Mount  Dol,  leaving  the  command  to 
Gouge-le-Bruant,  whom  he  had  appointed  field-sergeant. 

This  Gouge-le-Bruant  has  left  a  vague  trace  in  his- 
tory. He  had  two  nicknames,  Brise-bleu,  on  account  of 
his  massacre  of  patriots,  and  Imânus,  because  he  had  in 
him  a  something  that  was  indescribably  horrible.  Imâ- 
nus, derived  from  imanis,  is  an  old  bas -Norman  word 
which  expresses  superhuman  ugliness,  something  al- 
most divine  in  its  awfulness,  —  a  demon,  a  satyr,  an 
ogre.  An  ancient  manuscript  says,  "  With  my  two  eyes 
I  saw  Imânus.  "     The  old  people  of  the  Bocage  no  longer 


252  NINETY-THREE. 

know  to-day  who  Gouge-le-Bruant  was,  nor  what  Brise- 
bleu  signifies;  but  they  know,  confusedly,  Imânus. 
Imânus  is  mingled  with  the  local  superstitions;  they 
talk  of  him  still  at  Trémorel  and  at  Plumaugat,  two 
villages  where  Gouge-le-Bruant  has  left  the  trace  of  his 
sinister  course.  In  the  Vendée  the  others  were  savages  ; 
Gouge-le-Bruant  was  the  barbarian.  He  was  a  species 
of  cacique,  tattooed  with  Christian  crosses  and  fleur-de- 
lis  ;  he  had  on  his  face  the  hideous,  almost  supernatural 
glare  of  a  soul  which  no  other  human  soul  resembled. 
He  was  infernally  brave  in  combat  ;  atrocious  afterward. 
His  was  a  heart  full  of  tortuous  intricacies,  capable  of 
all  forms  of  devotion,  inclined  to  all  madnesses.  Did 
he  reason  ?  Yes  ;  but  as  serpents  crawl,  in  a  twisted 
fashion.  He  started  from  heroism  to  reach  murder.  It 
was  impossible  to  divine  whence  his  resolves  came  to 
him  ;  they  were  sometimes  grand  from  their  very  mon- 
strosity. He  was  capable  of  every  possible  unexpected 
horror;  his  ferocity  was  epic.  Hence  his  mysterious 
nickname,  Imânus.  The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  had  con- 
fidence in  his  cruelty.  It  was  true  that  Imânus  excelled 
in  cruelty,  but  in  strategy  and  in  tactics  he  was  less 
clever,  and  perhaps  the  marquis  erred  in  making  him 
his  field-sergeant.  However  that  might  be,  be  left  Ima- 
nus behind  him  with  instructions  to  replace  him  and 
look  after  everything.  Gouge-le-Bruant,  a  man  more 
of  a  fighter  than  a  soldier,  was  fitter  to  cut  the  throats 
of  a  clan  than  to  guard  a  town.  Still  he  posted 
main-guards. 

When  evening  came,  as  the  Marquis  de  Lantenac  was 
returning  toward  Dol,  after  having  decided  upon  the 
ground  for  his  battery,  he  suddenly  heard  the  report  of 
cannon.  He  looked  forward.  A  red  smoke  was  rising 
from  the  principal  street.  There  had  been  surprise, 
invasion,  assault;  they  were  fighting,  in  the  town.     Al- 


DOL.  253 

though  very  difficult  to  astonish,  he  was  stupefied.  He 
had  not  been  prepared  for  anything  of  the  sort.  Who 
could  it  be  ?  Evidently  it  was  not  Gauvain.  No  man 
would  attack  a  force  that  numbered  four  to  his  one. 
Was  it  Léchelle  ?  But  could  he  have  made  such  a  forced 
march  ?  Léchelle  was  improbable  ;  Gauvain  impossible. 
Lantenac  urged  on  his  horse  ;  as  he  rode  forward  he 
encountered  the  flying  inhabitants  ;  he  questioned  them. 
They  were  mad  with  terror  ;  they  cried,  "  The  Blues  ! 
the  Blues  !  "  When  he  arrived,  the  situation  was  a  bad 
one.      This  is  what  had  happened 


CHAPTEE  IIL 

SMALL   ARMIES   AND   GREAT   BATTLES. 

A  S  we  have  just  seen,  the  peasants,  on  arriving  at 
/"*■  Dol,  dispersed  themselves  through  the  town,  each 
man  following  his  own  fancy,  as  happens  when  troops 
*  obey  from  friendship,  "  a  favourite  expression  with  the 
Vendeans,  —  a  species  of  obedience  which  makes  heroes, 
but  not  troopers.  They  thrust  the  artillery  out  of  the 
way  along  with  the  baggage,  under  the  arches  of  the  old 
market-hall.  They  were  weary  ;  they  ate,  drank,  counted 
their  rosaries,  and  lay  down  pell-mell  across  the  princi- 
pal street,  which  was  encumbered  rather  than  guarded. 

As  night  came  on,  the  greater  portion  fell  asleep, 
with  their  heads  on  their  knapsacks,  some  having  their 
wives  beside  them,  for  the  peasant  women  often  followed 
their  husbands,  and  the  robust  ones  acted  as  spies.  It 
was  a  mild  July  evening  ;  the  constellation  glittered  in 
the  deep  purple  of  the  sky.  The  entire  bivouac,  which 
resembled  rather  the  halt  of  a  caravan  than  an  army  en- 
camped, gave  itself  up  to  repose.  Suddenly,  amid  the 
dull  gleams  of  twilight,  such  as  had  not  yet  closed  their 
eyes  saw  three  pieces  of  ordnance  pointed  at  the  entrance 
of  the  street.  It  was  Gauvain's  artillery.  He  had  sur- 
prised the  main-guard.  He  was  in  the  town,  and  his 
column  held  the  top  of  the  street. 

A  peasant  started  up,  crying,  "  Who  goes  there  ?  *  and 
fired  his  musket;  a  cannon-shot  replied.     Then  a  furi- 


SMALL  ARMIES  AND  GREAT  BATTLES.     255 

ous  discharge  of  musketry  burst  forth.  The  whole 
drowsy  crowd  sprang  up  with  a  start.  A  rude  shock, 
—  to  fall  asleep  under  the  stars  and  wake  under  a  volley 
of  grape-shot. 

The  first  moments  were  terrific.  There  is  nothing  so 
tragic  as  the  aimless  swarming  of  a  thunderstricken 
crowd.  They  flung  themselves  on  their  arms  ;  they 
yelled,  they  ran  ;  many  fell.  The  assaulted  peasants  no 
longer  knew  what  they  were  about,  and  blindly  shot  one 
another.  The  townspeople,  stunned  with  fright,  rushed 
in  and  out  of  their  houses,  and  wandered  frantically 
amid  the  hubbub,  Families  shrieked  to  one  another.  A 
dismal  combat  ensued,  in  which  women  and  children  were 
mingled.  The  bails,  as  they  whistled  overhead,  streaked 
the  darkness  with  rays  of  light.  A  fusilade  poured 
from  every  dark  corner.  There  was  nothing  but  smoke 
and  tumult.  The  entanglement  of  the  baggage-wagons 
and  the  cannon-carriages  was  added  to  the  confusion. 
The  horses  became  unmanageable  ;  the  wounded  were 
trampled  under  foot.  The  groans  of  the  poor  wretches, 
helpless  on  the  ground,  filled  the  air.  Horror  here, 
stupefaction  there.  Soldiers  and  officers  sought  for  one 
another.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  could  be  seen  crea- 
tures made  indifferent  to  the  awful  scene  by  personal 
preoccupations.  A  woman  sat  nursing  her  new-born 
babe,  seated  on  a  bit  of  wall,  against  which  her  husband 
leaned  with  his  leg  broken;  and  he,  while  his  blood 
was  flowing,  tranquilly  loaded  his  rifle  and  fired  at  ran- 
dom, straight  before  him  into  the  darkness.  Men  lying 
flat  on  the  ground  fired  across  the  spokes  of  the  wagon- 
wheels.  At  moments  there  rose  a  hideous  din  of  clam- 
ours, then  the  great  voices  of  the  cannon  drowned  all. 
It  was  awful.  It  was  like  a  felling  of  trees  ;  they 
dropped  one  upon  another.  Gauvain  poured  out  a  deadly 
fire  from  his  ambush,  and  suffered  little  loss. 


256  NINETY-THREE. 

Still  the  peasants,  courageous  amid  their  disorder 
ended  by  putting  themselves  on  the  defensive  ;  they 
retreated  into  the  market,  —  a  vast,  obscure  redoubt,  a 
forest  of  stone  pillars.  There  they  again  made  a  stand  ; 
anything  which  resembled  a  wood  gave  them  confidence. 
Imanus  supplied  the  absence  of  Lantenac  as  best  he 
could.  They  had  cannon,  but  to  the  great  astonishment 
of  Gauvain  they  did  not  make  use  of  it  ;  that  was  owing 
to  the  fact  that  the  artillery  officers  had  gone  with  the 
marquis  to  reconnoitre  Mount  Dol,  and  the  peasants  did 
not  know  how  to  manage  the  culverins  and  demi- 
culverins.  But  they  riddled  with  balls  the  Blues  who 
cannonaded  them  ;  they  replied  to  the  grape-shot  by 
volleys  of  musketry.  It  was  now  they  who  were  shel- 
tered. They  had  heaped  together  the  drays,  the  tum- 
brels, the  casks,  all  the  litter  of  the  old  market,  and 
improvised  a  lofty  barricade,  with  openings  through 
which  they  could  pass  their  carbines.  From  these  holes 
their  fusilade  was  murderous.  The  whole  was  quickly 
arranged.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  market  presented 
an  impregnable  front. 

This  became  a  serious  matter  for  Gauvain.  This  mar- 
ket suddenly  transformed  into  a  citadel  was  unexpected. 
The  peasants  were  inside  it,  massed  and  solid.  Gauvain 's 
surprise  had  succeeded,  but  he  ran  the  risk  of  defeat. 
He  got  down  from  his  saddle.  He  stood  attentively 
studying  the  darkness,  his  arms  folded,  clutching  his 
sword  in  one  hand,  erect,  in  the  glare  of  a  torch  which 
lighted  his  battery.  The  gleam,  falling  on  his  tall  fig- 
ure, made  him  visible  to  the  men  behind  the  barricade. 
He  became  an  aim  for  them,  but  he  did  not  notice  it. 
The  shower  of  balls  sent  out  from  the  barricade  fell 
about  him  as  he  stood  there,  lost  in  thought.  But  he 
could  oppose  cannon  to  all  these  carbines,  and  cannon 
always  ends  by  getting  the  advantage.     Victory  rests 


SMALL  ARMIES  AND  GREAT  BATTLES.     257 

with  him  who  has  the  artillery.     His  battery,    well 
manned,  insured  him  the  superiority. 

Suddenly  a  lightning-flash  burst  from  the  shadowy 
market  ;  there  was  a  sound  like  a  peal  of  thunder,  and 
a  ball  broke  through  a  house  above  Gauvain 's  head. 
The  barricade  was  replying  to  the  cannon  with  its  own 
voice.  What  had  happened?  Something  new  had  oc- 
curred. The  artillery  was  no  longer  confined  to  one 
side.  A  second  ball  followed  the  first  and  buried  itself 
in  the  wall  close  to  Gauvain.  A  third  knocked  his  hat 
off  on  the  ground.  These  balls  were  of  a  heavy  calibre. 
It  was  a  sixteen-pounder  that  fired. 

*  They  are  aiming  at  you,  commandant,  "  cried  the 
artillerymen. 

They  extinguished  the  torch.  Gauvain,  as  if  in  a 
reverie,  picked  up  his  hat.  Some  one  had  in  fact  aimed 
at  Gauvain  :  it  was  Lantenac.  The  marquis  had  just 
arrived  within  the  barricade  from  the  opposite  side. 
Imânus  had  hurried  to  meet  him. 

"  Monseigneur,  we  are  surprised  !  " 

"  By  whom  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  " 

"  Is  the  route  to  Dinan  free  ? n 

«  I  think  so.  " 

"  We  must  begin  a  retreat.  " 

"  It  has  commenced.     A  good  many  have  run  away.  " 

"  We  must  not  run  ;  we  must  fall  back.  Why  are  you 
not  making  use  of  this  artillery  ?  " 

"  The  men  lost  their  heads  ;  besides,  the  officers  were 
not  here.  ", 

"  I  am  come.  '' 

"  Monseigneur,  I  have  sent  toward  Fougères  all  I 
could  of  the  baggage,  the  women,  everything  useless. 
What  is  to  be  done  with  the  three  little  prisoners  ?  " 

"  Ah.  those  children  !  " 


258  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Yes.  " 

"  They  are  our  hostages.  Have  them  taken  to  La 
Tourgue.  " 

This  said,  the  marquis  rushed  to  the  barricade.  With 
the  arrival  of  the  chief  the  whole  face  of  affairs  changed. 
The  barricade  was  ill-constructed  for  artillery  ;  there  was 
only  room  for  two  cannon  ;  the  marquis  put  in  position 
a  couple  of  sixteen-pounders,  for  which  loop-holes  were 
made.  As  he  leaned  over  one  of  the  guns,  watching  the 
enemy's  battery  through  the  opening,  he  perceived 
Gauvain. 

"  It  is  he  !  "  cried  the  marquis. 

Then  he  took  the  swab  and  rammer  himself,  loaded 
the  piece,  sighted  it,  and  fired.  Thrice  he  aimed  at 
Gauvain  and  missed.  The  third  time  he  only  succeeded 
in  knocking  his  hat  off. 

"  Numbskull  !  "  muttered  Lantenac  ;  "  a  little  lower, 
and  I  should  have  taken  his  head.  "  Suddenly  the  torch 
went  out,  and  he  had  only  darkness  before  him.  "  So 
be  it  !  "  said  he.  Then  turning  toward  the  peasant  gun- 
ners, he  cried  :  "  Now  let  them  have  it  !  " 

Gauvain,  on  his  side,  was  not  less  in  earnest.  The 
seriousness  of  the  situation  increased.  A  new  phase  of 
the  combat  developed  itself.  The  barricade  had  begun 
to  use  cannon.  Who  could  tell  if  it  were  not  about  to 
pass  from  the  defensive  to  the  offensive  ?  He  had  be- 
fore him,  after  deducting  the  killed  and  fugitives,  at 
least  five  thousand  combatants,  and  he  had  left  only 
twelve  hundred  serviceable  men.  What  would  happen 
to  the  republicans  if  the  enemy  perceived  their  paucity 
of  numbers  ?  The  rôles  were  reversed.  He  had  been 
the  assailant,  —  he  would  become  the  assailed.  If  the 
barricade  were  to  make  a  sortie,  everything  might  be 
lost.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  He  could  no  longer  think 
of  attacking  the  barricade  in  front  ;  an  attempt  at  main 


SMALL  ARMIES  AND  GREAT  BATTLES.         '  259 

force  would  be  foolhardy  :  twelve  hundred  men  cannot 
dislodge  five  thousand.  To  rush  upon  them  was  impos- 
sible ;  to  wait  would  be  fatal.  He  must  make  an  end 
But  how  ? 

Gauvain  belonged  to  the  neighbourhood  ;  he  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  town;  he  knew  that  the  old  market  - 
house  where  the  Vendeans  were  intrenched  was  backed 
by  a  labyrinth  of  narrow  and  crooked  streets.  He 
turned  toward  his  lieutenant,  who  was  that  valiant 
Captain  Guéchamp,  afterward  famous  for  clearing  out 
the  forest  of  Concise,  where  Jean  Chouan  was  born,  and 
for  preventing  the  capture  of  Bourgneuf  by  holding  the 
dike  of  La  Chaîne  against  the  rebels. 

"  Guéchamp,  "  said  he,  "  I  leave  you  in  command. 
Fire  as  fast  as  you  can.  Eiddle  the  barricade  with 
cannon-balls.  Keep  all  those  fellows  over  yonder 
busy.  " 

"  I  understand,  "  said  Guéchamp. 

*  Mass  the  whole  column  with  their  guns  loaded,  and 
hold  them  ready  to  make  an  onslaught.  *  He  added  a 
few  words  in  Guéchamp 's  ear. 

"  I  hear,  "  said  Guéchamp. 

Gauvain  resumed  :     "  Are  all  our  drummers  on  foot  ?  * 

"  Yes.  " 

"  We  have  nine.     Keep  two,  and  give  me  seven.  " 

The  seven  drummers  ranged  themselves  in  silence  in 
front  of  Gauvain.  Then  he  said  :  "  Battalion  of  the 
Bonnet  Bouge  !  " 

Twelve  men,  of  whom  one  was  a  sergeant,  stepped 
out  from  the  main  body  of  the  troop. 

"  I  demand  the  whole  battalion,  "  said  Gauvain. 

"  Here  it  is,  "  replied  the  sergeant. 

"  You  are  twelve  !  " 

"  There  are  twelve  of  us  left.  " 

*  It  is  well,  "  said  Gauvain» 


2Q0  .  NINETY-THREE. 

This  sergeant  was  the  good,  rough  trooper  Radoubt 
who  had  adopted,  in  the  name  of  the  battalion,  the 
three  children  they  had  encountered  in  the  wood  of  La 
Saudraie.  It  will  be  remembered  that  only  a  demi- 
battalion  had  been  exterminated  at  Herbe-en-Pail,  and 
Radoub  was  fortunate  enough  not  to  have  been  among 
the  number. 

There  was  a  forage-wagon  standing  near;  Gauvain 
pointed  toward  it  with  his  finger.  "  Sergeant,  order 
your  men  to  make  some  straw  ropes  and  twist  them 
about  their  guns,  so  that  there  will  be  no  noise  if  they 
knock  together.  " 

A  minute  passed  ;  the  order  was  silently  executed  in 
the  darkness. 

"  It  is  done,  "  said  the  sergeant. 

"  Soldiers,  take  off  your  shoes,  "  commanded  Gauvain. 

"  We  have  none,  "  returned  the  sergeant. 

They  numbered,  counting  the  drummers,  nineteen 
men  ;  Gauvain  made  the  twentieth.  He  cried  :  "  Follow 
me  !  Single  file  !  The  drummers  next  to  me,  the  bat- 
talion behind  them.  Sergeant,  you  will  command  the 
battalion.  " 

He  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  column,  and  while 
the  firing  on  both  sides  continued,  these  twenty  men, 
gliding  along  like  shadows,  plunged  into  the  deserted 
lanes.  The  line  marched  thus  for  some  time,  twisting 
along  the  fronts  of  the  houses.  The  whole  town  seemed 
dead  ;  the  citizens  were  hidden  in  their  cellars.  Every 
door  was  barred;  every  shutter  closed;  no  light  to  be 
seen  anywhere.  Amid  this  silence  the  principal  street 
kept  up  its  din  ;  the  cannonading  continued  ;  the  repub- 
lican battery  and  the  royalist  barricade  spit  forth  their 
volleys  with  undiminished  fury. 

After  twenty  minutes  of  this  tortuous  march,  Gau- 
vain,  who  kept  his  way  unerringly  through  the  dark- 


SMALL  ARMIES  AND  GREAT  BATTLES.  '  261 

ness,  reached  the  end  of  a  lane  which  led  into  the  broad 
street,  but  on  the  other  side  of  the  market-house.  The 
position  was  turned.  In  this  direction  there  was  no 
intrenchment,  according  to  the  eternal  imprudence  of 
barricade  builders;  the  market  was  open,  and  the  en- 
trance free  among  the  pillars  where  some  baggage- 
wagons  stood  ready  to  depart.  Gauvain  and  his  nineteen 
men  had  the  five  thousand  Vendeans  before  them,  but 
their  backs  instead  of  their  faces. 

Gauvain  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to  the  sergeant;  the 
soldiers  untwisted  the  straw  from  their  guns  ;  the  twelve 
grenadiers  posted  themselves  in  line  behind  the  angle  of 
the  lane,  and  the  seven  drummers  waited  with  their 
drumsticks  lifted.  The  artillery  firing  was  intermittent. 
Suddenly,  in  a  pause  between  the  discharges,  Gauvain 
waved  his  sword,  and  cried  in  a  voice  which  rang  like 
a  trumpet  through  the  silence  :  "  Two  hundred  men  to 
the  right  ;  two  hundred  men  to  the  left  ;  all  the  rest  in 
the  centre  !  " 

The  twelve  muskets  fired,  and  the  seven  drums  beat. 

Gauvain  uttered  the  formidable  battle-cry  of  the 
Blues  :  "  To  your  bayonets  !     Down  upon  them  !  " 

The  effect  was  prodigious.  This  whole  peasant  mass 
felt  itself  surprised  in  the  rear,  and  believed  that  it  had 
a  fresh  army  at  its  back.  At  the  same  instant,  on  hear- 
ing the  drums,  the  column  which  Guéchamp  commanded 
at  the  head  of  the  street  began  to  move,  sounding  the 
charge  in  its  turn,  and  flung  itself  at  a  run  on  the  barri- 
cade. The  peasants  found  themselves  between  two  fires. 
Panic  magnifies  :  a  pistol-shot  -sounds  like  the  report 
of  a  cannon  :  in  moments  of  terror  the  imagination 
heightens  every  noise  ;  the  barking  of  a  dog  sounds  like 
the  roar  of  a  lion.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  the  peas- 
ant catches  fright  as  easily  as  thatch  catches  fire  ;  and 
as  quickly  as  a  blazing  thatch  becomes  a  conflagration, 


262  NINETY-THREE. 

a  panic  among  peasants  becomes  a  rout.  An  indescriba* 
bly  confused  flight  ensued. 

In  a  few  instants  the  market-hall  was  empty;  the 
terrified  rustics  broke  away  in  all  directions  ;  the  officers 
were  powerless;  Imânus  uselessly  killed  two  or  three 
fugitives  ;  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  cry,  "  Save 
yourselves  !  "  The-*  army  poured  through  the  streets  of 
the  town  like  water  through  the  holes  of  a  sieve,  and 
dispersed  into  the  open  country  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
cloud  carried  along  by  a  whirlwind.  Some  fled  toward 
Châteauneuf,  some  toward  Plerguer,  others  toward 
Antrain. 

The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  watched  this  stampede.  He 
spiked  the  guns  with  his  own  hands  and  then  retreated, 
—  the  last  of  all,  slowly,  composedly,  saying  to  himself, 
"  Decidedly,  the  peasants  will  not  stand.  We  must 
have  the  English.  " 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

"  IT  IS   THE   SECOND   TIME." 

HPHE  victory  was  complete.  Gauvain  turned  toward 
J-  the  men  of  the  Bonnet  Rouge  battalion,  and  said  : 
"  You  are  twelve,  but  you  are  equal  to  a  thousand.  " 
Praise  from  a  chief  was  the  cross  of  honour  of  those 
times. 

Guéchamp,  dispatched  beyond  the  town  by  Gauvain, 
pursued  the  fugitives  and  captured  a  great  number. 
Torches  were  lighted  and  the  town  was  searched.  All 
who  could  not  escape  surrendered.  They  illuminated 
the  principal  street  with  fire-pots.  It  was  strewn  with 
dead  and  dying.  The  root  of  a  combat  must  always  be 
torn  out;  a  few  desperate  groups  here  and  there  still 
resisted  ;  they  were  surrounded,  and  threw  down  their 
arms. 

Gauvain  had  remarked,  amid  the  frantic  pell-mell  of 
the  retreat,  an  intrepid  man,  a  sort  of  agile  and  robust 
form,  who  protected  the  flight  of  others,  but  had  not 
himself  fled.  This  peasant  had  used  his  gun  so  ener- 
getically —  the  barrel  for  firing,  the  butt-end  for  knock- 
ing down  —  that  he  had  broken  it  ;  now  he  grasped  a 
pistol  in  one  hand  and  a  sabre  in  the  other.  No  one 
dared  approach  him.  Suddenly  Gauvain  saw  him  reel 
and  support  himself  against  a  pillar  of  the  broad  street. 
The  man  had  just  been  wounded;  but  he  still  clutched 
the   sabre   and   pistol    in    his    fists.      Gauvain   put   his 


264  NINETY-TUREE, 

sword  under  his  arm  and  went  up  to  him.    "  Surrender  !  * 
said  he. 

The    man    looked    steadily   at   him.      The   blood   ran 
through   his   clothing  from  a  wound  which  he  had  re 
ceived,  and  made  a  pool  at  his  feet. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,  "  added  Gauvain,  The  man 
remained  silent.      "  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

The  man  answered,  "  I  am  called  the  Shadow- 
dancer.  " 

"  Fou  are  a  brave  man,  "  said  Gauvain.  And  he  held 
out  his  hand. 

The  man  cried,  "  Long  live  the  king  !  "  Gathering 
up  all  his  remaining  strength,  he  raised  both  arms  at 
once,  fired  his  pistol  at  Gauvain's  heart,  and  dealt  a  blow 
at  his  head  with  the  sabre. 

He  did  it  with  the  swiftness  of  a  tiger  ;  but  some  one 
else  had  been  still  more  prompt.  This  was  a  man  on 
horseback,  who  had  arrived  unobserved  a  few  minutes 
before.  This  man,  seeing  the  Vendean  raise  the  sabre 
and  pistol,  rushed  between  him  and  Gauvain.  But  for 
this  interposition,  Gauvain  would  have  been  killed. 
The  horse  received  the  pistol-shot,  the  man  received  the 
sabre-stroke,  and  both  fell.  It  all  happened  in  the  time 
it  would  have  needed  to  utter  a  cry. 

The  Vendean  sank  on  his  side  upon  the  pavement. 
The  sabre  had  struck  the  man  full  in  the  face  ;  he  lay 
senseless  on  the  stones.      The  horse  was  killed. 

Gauvain  approached.  "  Who  is  this  man  ?  "  said  he. 
He  studied  him.  The  blood  from  the  gash  inundated 
the  wounded  man,  and  spread  a  red  mask  over  his  face. 
It  was  impossible  to  distinguish  his  features,  but  one 
could  see  that  his  hair  was  grey.  "  This  man  has  saved 
my  life,  "  continued  Gauvain.  "  Does  any  one  here  know 
him  ?  " 

"  Commandant,  "  said  a  soldier,    "  he   came   into  the 


"IT   IS   THE   SECOND   TIME/'  265 

town  a  few  minutes  ago.  I  saw  him  enter;  he  came  by 
the  road  from  Pontorson.  " 

The  chief  surgeon  hurried  up  with  his  instrument- 
case.  The  wounded  man  was  still  insensible.  The 
surgeon  examined  him  and  said  :  "  A  simple  gash.  It 
is  nothing.  It  can  be  sewed  up.  In  eight  days  he  will 
be  on  his  feet  again.      It  was  a  beautiful  sabre-stroke  !  " 

The  sufferer  wore  a  cloak,  a  tricoloured  sash,  pistols, 
and  a  sabre.  He  was  laid  on  a  litter.  They  undressed 
him.  A  bucket  of  fresh  water  was  brought  :  the  sur- 
geon washed  the  cut  :  the  face  began  to  be  visible. 
Gauvain  studied  it  with  profound  attention. 

"  Has  he  any  papers  on  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  surgeon  felt  in  the  stranger's  side-pocket  and  drew 
out  a  pocket-book,  which  he  handed  to  Gauvain.  The 
wounded  man,  restored  by  the  cold  water,  began  to  come 
to  himself.      His  eyelids  moved  slightly, 

Gauvain  examined  the  pocket-book  ;  he  found  in  it  a 
sheet  of  paper,  folded  four  times  ;  he  opened  this  and 
read  : — - 

"Committee  of  Public  Safety.     The  Citizen  Cimourdain," 

He  uttered  a  cry  :     "  Cimourdain  !  " 

The  wounded  man  opened  his  eyes  at  this  exclamation. 

Gauvain  was  astounded.  "  Cimourdain  !  It  is  you  ! 
This  is  the  second  time  you  have  saved  my  life.  * 

Cimourdain  looked  at  him.  A  gleam  of  ineffable  joy 
lighted  his  bleeding  face. 

Gauvain  fell  on  his  knees  beside  him,  crying,  *  My 
master  !  " 

"  Thy  father,  "  said  Cimourdain» 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THE  DROP   OF   COLD  WATER. 

THEY  had  not  met  for  many  years,  but  their  hearts 
had  never  been  parted  ;  they  recognized  each  other 
as  if  they  had  separated  the  evening  before. 

An  ambulance  had  been  improvised  in  the  town-hall 
of  Dol.  Cimourdain  was*  placed  on  a  bed  in  a  little 
room  next  the  great  common  chamber  of  the  other 
wounded.  The  surgeon  sewed  up  the  cut  and  put  an 
end  to  the  demonstrations  of  affection  between  the  two 
men,  judging  that  Cimourdain  ought  to  be  left  to  sleep. 
Besides,  Gauvain  was  claimed  by  the  thousand  occupa- 
tions  which  are  the  duties  and  cares  of  victory. 

Cimourdain  remained  alone,  but  he  did  not  sleep  :  he 
was  consumed  by  two  fevers,  —  that  of  his  wound  and 
that  of  his  joy.  He  did  not  sleep,  and  still  it  did  not 
seem  to  himself  that  he  was  awake.  Could  it  be  possi- 
ble that  his  dream  was  realized  ?  Cimourdain  had  long 
ceased  to  believe  in  luck,  yet  here  it  was.  He  had  re- 
found  Gauvain.  He  had  left  him  a  child,  he  found  him 
a  man  ;  he  found  him  great,  formidable,  intrepid.  He 
found  him  triumphant,  and  triumphing  for  the  people. 
Gauvain  was  the  real  support  of  the  Eevolution  in  Ven- 
dée ;  and  it  was  he,  Cimourdain,  who  had  given  this 
tower  of  strength  to  the  Eepublic.  This  victor  was  his 
pupil.  The  light  which  he  saw  illuminating  this  youth- 
ful face  (reserved  perhaps  for  the  Eepublican  Pantheon) 
was  his  own  thought,  —  his.  Cimourdain 's.     His  dis- 


THE  DROP  OF   COLD  'WATER.  267 

ciple  —  the  child  of  his  spirit  —  was  from  henceforth  a 
hero,  and  before  long  would  be  a  glory.  It  seemed  to 
Cimourdain  that  he  saw  the  apotheosis  of  his  own  soul. 
He  had  just  seen  how  Gauvain  made  war;  he  was  like 
Chiron,  who  had  watched  Achilles  light.  There  was  a 
mysterious  analogy  between  the  priest  and  the  centaur, 
for  the  priest  is  only  half  man. 

All  the  chances  of  this  adventure,  mingled  with  the 
sleeplessness  caused  by  his  wound,  filled  Cimourdain 
with  a  sort  of  mysterious  intoxication.  He  saw  a  glori- 
ous youthful  destiny  rising  ;  and  \jhat  added  to  his  pro- 
found joy  was  the  possession  of  full  power  over  this 
destiny.  Another  success  like  that  which  he  had  just 
witnessed,  and  Cimourdain  would  only  need  to  speak  a 
single  word  to  induce  the  Eepublic  to  confide  an  army 
to  Gauvain.  Nothing  dazzles  like  the  astonishment  of 
complete  victory.  It  was  an  era  when  each  man  had 
his  military  dream  ;  each  one  wanted  to  make  a  general. 
Danton  wished  to  appoint  Westermann  ;  Marat  wished 
to  appoint  Eossignol  ;  Hébert  wished  to  appoint  Eonsin  , 
Eobespierre  wished  to  put  these  all  aside.  Why  not 
Gauvain,  asked  Cimourdain  of  himself  ;  and  he  dreamed. 
All  possibilities  were  before  him  :  he  passed  from  one 
hypothesis  to  another  ;  all  obstacles  vanished.  When  a 
man  puts  his  foot  on  that  ladder,  he  does  not  stop ,  it 
is  an  infinite  ascent  :  one  starts  from  earth  and  one 
reaches  the  stars.  A  great  general  is  only  a  leader  of 
armies ,  a  great  captain  is  at  the  same  time  a  leader  of 
ideas,  Cimourdain  dreamed  of  Gauvain  as  a  great  cap- 
tain. He  seemed  to  see  —  for  reverie  travels  swiftly  — ■ 
Gauvain  on  the  ocean,  chasing  the  English  ;  on  the  Ehine, 
chastising  the  Northern  kings  ;  on  the  Pyrenees,  repuls- 
ing Spain  ;  on  the  Alps,  making  a  signal  to  Eome  to 
rouse  itself.  There  were  two  men  in  Cimourdain,  — 
one  tender,  the  other  stern  ;  both  were  satisfied,  for  the 


268  NINETY-THREE. 

inexorable  was  his  ideal  ;  and  at  the  same  time  that  he 
saw  Gauvain  noble,  he  saw  him  terrible.  Cimourdain 
thought  of  all  that  it  was  necessary  to  destroy  before  be« 
ginning  to  build  up,  and  said  to  himself  :  "  Verily,  this 
is  no  time  for  tendernesses.  Gauvain  will  be  '  up  to  the 
mark,  '  "  an  expression  of  the  period.  Cimourdain  pic- 
tured Gauvain  spurning  the  shadows  with  his  foot,  with 
a  breastplate  of  light,  a  meteor-glare  on  his  brow,  rising 
on  the  grand  ideal  wings  of  Justice,  Eeason,  and  Pro- 
gress, but  with  a  sword  in  his  hand:  an  angel, —  a  de- 
stroyer likewise. 

In  the  height  of  this  reverie,  which  was  almost  an 
ecstasy,  he  heard  through  the  half-open  door  a  conversa- 
tion in  the  great  hall  of  the  ambulance  which  was  next 
his  chamber.  He  recognized  Gauvain 's  voice  ;  through 
all  those  years  of  separation  that  voice  had  rung  ever  in 
his  ear,  and  the  voice  of  the  man  had  still  a  tone  of  the 
childish  voice  he  had  loved.  He  listened.  There  was 
a  sound  of  soldiers'  footsteps  ;  one  of  the  men  said  :  — 

"  Commandant,  this  is  the  man  who  fired  at  you. 
While  nobody  was  watching,  he  dragged  himself  into  a 
cellar.     We  found  him.      Here  he  is.  " 

Then  Cimourdain  heard  this  dialogue  between  Gauvain 
and  the  prisoner  :  — 

u  You  are  wounded  ?  " 

"  I  am  well  enough  to  be  shot.  " 

"  Lay  that  man  on  a  bed.  Dress  his  wounds  ;  take 
care  of  him  ;  cure  him.  " 

"  I  wish  to  die.  " 

"  You  must  live.  You  tried  to  kill  me  in  the  king's 
name  ;  I  show  you  mercy  in  the  name  of  the  Republic.  " 

A  shadow  passed  across  Cimourdain 's  forehead.  He 
was  like  a  man  waking  up  with  a  start,  and  he  mur- 
mured with  a  sort  of  sinister  dejection:  "In  truth,  he 
is  one  of  the  merciful.  " 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   HEALED  BREAST;  A  BLEEDING  HEART, 

A  CUT  heals  quickly  ;  but  there  was  in  a  certain  place 
a  person  more  seriously  wounded  than  Cimourdain. 
It  was  the  woman  who  had  been  shot,  whom  the  beggar 
Tellmarch  had  picked  up  out  of  the  great  lake  of  blood 
at  the  farm  of  Herbe-en-Pail. 

Michelle  Fléchard  was  even  in  a  more  critical  situa- 
tion than  Tellmarch  had  believed.  There  was  a  wound 
in  the  shoulder-blade  corresponding  to  the  wound  above 
the  breast;  at  the  same  time  that  the  ball  broke  her 
collar-bone,  another  ball  traversed  her  shoulder,  but,  as 
the  lungs  were  not  touched,  she  might  recover.  Tell- 
march was  a  "  philosopher,  "  —  a  peasant  phrase  which 
means  a  little  of  a  doctor,  a  little  of  a  surgeon,  and  a 
little  of  a  sorcerer.  He  carried  the  wounded  woman  to 
his  forest  lair,  laid  her  upon  his  sea-weed  bed,  and 
treated  her  by  the  aid  of  those  mysterious  things  called 
"  simples  ;  "  and  thanks  to  him  she  lived.  The  collar- 
bone knitted  together,  the  wounds  in  the  breast  and 
shoulder  closed  ;  after  a  few  weeks  she  was  convales- 
cent. One  morning  she  was  able  to  walk  out  of  the 
carnichot,  leaning  on  Tellmarch,  and  seat  herself  be- 
neath the  trees  in  the'  sunshine.  Tellmarch  knew  little 
about  her;  wounds  in  the  breast  demand  silence,  and 
during  the  almost  death-like  agony  which  had  preceded 
her  recovery  she  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word.  When 
she  tried  to  speak,  Tellmarch  stopped  her?  but  she  kept 


270  NINETY-THREE. 

up  an  obstinate  reverie;  he  could  see  in  her  eyes  the 
sombre  going  and  coming  of  poignant  thoughts.  But 
this  morning  she  was  quite  strong;  she  could  almost 
walk  alone  ;  a  cure  is  a  paternity,  and  Tellmarch  watched 
her  with  delight.  The  good  old  man  began  to  smile. 
He  said  to  her:  — 

"  We  are  upon  our  feet  again  ;  we  have  no  more 
wounds.  " 

"  Except  in  the  heart,  *  said  she.  She  added,  près* 
ently  :  "  Then  you  have  no  idea  where  they  are.  " 

"  Who  are  '  they  '  ?  "  demanded  Tellmarch. 

"  My  children.  " 

This  "  then  "  expressed  a  whole  world  of  thoughts  ;  it 
signified  :  "  Since  you  do  not  talk  to  me,  since  you  have 
been  so  many  days  beside  me  without  opening  your 
mouth,  since  you  stop  me  each  time  I  attempt  to  break 
the  silence,  since  you  seem  to  fear  that  I  shall  speak,  it 
is  because  you  have  nothing  to  tell  me.  "  Often  in  her 
fever,  in  her  wanderings,  her  delirium,  she  had  called 
her  children,  and  had  seen  clearly  (for  delirium  makes 
its  observations)  that  the  old  man  did  not  reply  to  her. 

The  truth  was,  Tellmarch  did  not  know  what  to  say 
to  her.  It  is  not  easy  to  tell  a  mother  that  her  children 
are  lost.  And  then,  what  did  he  know  ?  Nothing.  He 
knew  that  a  mother  had  been  shot;  that  this  mother 
had  been  found  on  the  ground  by  himself  ;  that  when  he 
had  taken  her  up  she  was  almost  a  corpse  ;  that  this 
quasi-corpse  had  three  children  ;  and  that  Lantenac, 
after  having  had  the  mother  shot,  carried  off  the  little 
ones.  All  his  information  ended  there.  What  had  be- 
come of  the  children  ?  Were  they  even  living  ?  He 
knew,  because  he  had  inquired,  that  there  were  two  boys 
and  a  little  gir],  barely  weaned.  Nothing  more.  He 
asked  himself  a  host  of  questions  concerning  this  unfor- 
tunate group,   but  could  answer  none   of   them.      The 


A  HEALED  BREAST,  A  BLEEDING  HEART.    271 

people  of  the  neighbourhood  whom  he  had  interrogated 
contented  themselves  with  shaking  their  heads.  The 
Marquis  de  Lantenac  was  a  man  of  whom  they  did  not 
willingly  talk.  They  did  not  willingly  talk  of  De 
Lantenac,  and  they  did  not  willingly  talk  to  Tellmarch. 
Peasants  have  a  species  of  suspicion  peculiar  to  them- 
selves. They  did  not  like  Tellmarch.  Tellmarch  the 
Caimand  was  a  puzzling  man.  Why  was  he  always 
studying  the  sky  ?  What  was  he  doing  and  what  was  * 
he  thinking  in  his  long  hours  of  stillness  ?  Yes,  in- 
deed, he  was  odd  3  In  this  district  in  full  warfare,  in 
full  conflagration,  in  high  tumult;  where  all  men  had 
only  one  business,  —  devastation  ;  and  one  work,  — 
carnage  ;  where  whosoever  could  burned  a  house,  cut 
the  throats  of  a  family,  massacred  an  outpost,  sacked  a 
village  ;  where  nobody  thought  of  anything  but  laying 
ambushes  for  one  another,  drawing  one  another  into 
snares,  killing  one  another,  —  this  solitary,  absorbed  in 
Nature,  as  if  submerged  in  the  immense  peacefulness  of 
its  beauties,  gathering  herbs  and  plants,  occupied  solely 
with  the  flowers,  the  birds,  and  the  stars,  was  evidently 
a  dangerous  man.  Plainly  he  was  not  in  possession  of 
his  reason  ;  he  did  not  lie  in  wait  behind  thickets  ;  he 
did  not  fire  a  shot  at  any  one.  Hence  he  created  a  cer- 
tain dread  about  him.  "  That  man  is  mad,  "  said  the 
passers-by. 

Tellmarch  was  more  than  an  isolated  man,  —  he  was 
shunned.  People  asked  him  no  questions  and  gave  him 
few  answers  ;  so  he  ha<J  not  been  able  to  inform  himself 
as  he  could  have  wished.  The  war  had  drifted  else- 
where ;  the  armies  had  gone  to  fight  farther  off;  the 
Marquis  de  Lantenac  had  disappeared  from  the  horizon, 
and  in  Tellmarch 's  state  of  mind  for  him  to  be  conscious 
there  was  a  war  it  was  necessary  for  it  to  set  its  foot  oa 
him. 


272  NINETÏ-THREE. 

After  that  cry,  "  My  children,  "  Tellmarch  ceased  tc 
smile,  and  the  woman  went  back  to  her  thoughts. 
What  was  passing  in  that  soul  ?  It  was  as  if  she  looked 
out  from  the  depths  of  a  gulf.  Suddenly  she  turned 
toward  Tellmarch,  and  cried  anew,  almost  with  an  ac- 
cent of  rage  :  "  My  children  !  " 

Tellmarch  drooped  his  head  like  one  guilty.  He  was 
thinking  of  this  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  who  certainly 
*was  not  thinking  of  him,  and  who  probably  no  longer 
remembered  that  he  existed.  He  accounted  for  this  to 
himself,  saying,  "  A  lord,  when  he  is  in  danger,  he 
knows  you  ;  when  he  is  once  out  of  it,  he  does  not  know 
you  any  longer.  "  And  he  asked  himself  :  "  But  why, 
then,  did  I  save  this  lord  ?  "  And  he  answered  his  own 
question  :  "  Because  he  was  a  man.  "  Thereupon  he 
remained  thoughtful  for  some  time,  then  began  again 
mentally  :  "  Am  I  very  sure  of  that  ?  "  He  repeated  his 
bitter  words  :  "  If  I  had  known  !  " 

This  whole  adventure  overwhelmed  him,  for  in  that 
which  he  had  done  he  perceived  a  sort  of  enigma.  He 
meditated  dolorously.  A  good  action  might  sometimes 
be  evil.  He  who  saves  the  wolf  kills  the  sheep.  He 
who  sets  the  vulture's  wing  is  responsible  for. his  talons. 
He  felt  himself  in  truth  guilty.  The  unreasoning  anger 
of  this  mother  was  just.  Still,  to  have  saved  her  con- 
soled him  for  having  saved  the  marquis.  But  the 
children  ? 

The  mother  meditated  also.  The  reflections  of  these 
two  went  on  side  by  side  ;  and,  perhaps,  though  without 
speech,  met  one  another  amid  the  shadows  of  reverie. 
The  woman's  eyes,  with  a  night-like  gloom  in  their 
depths,  fixed  themselves  anew  on  Tellmarch.  "  Neverthe- 
less, that  cannot  be  allowed  to  pass  in  this  way,  "  said  she 

"  Hush  !  "  returned  Tellmarch,  laying  his  finger  od 
his  lips. 


A  HEALED  BREAST;  A  BLEEDING  HEART.     273 

She  continued  :  "  Yon  did  wrong  to  save  me,  and  I  am 
angry  with  you  for  it.  I  would  rather  be  dead,  because 
I  am  sure  I  should  see  them  then.  I  should  know  where 
they  are.  They  would  not  see  me,  but  I  should  be  near 
them.   The  dead,—  they  ought  to  have  power  to  protect.  " 

He  took  her  arm  and  felt  her  pulse.  "  Calm  yourself  : 
you  are  bringing  back  your  fever.  " 

Sfie  asked  him  almost  harshly,  "  When  can  I  go  away 
from  here  ?  " 

"  Go  away  ?  " 

■  Yes.     Walk.  " 

"  Never,  if  you  are  not  reasonable.  To-morrow,  if 
you  are  wise.  " 

"  What  do  you  call  being  wise  ?  n 

"  Having  confidence  in  God.  " 

"  God  !  What  has  he  done  with  my  children  ?  "  Her 
mind  seemed  wandering.  Her  voice  became  very  sweet. 
"  You  understand,  "  she  said  to  him,  "  I  cannot  rest  like 
this.  You  have  never  had  any  children,  but  I  have. 
That  makes  a  difference.  One  cannot  judge  of  a  thing 
when  one  does  not  know  what  it  is.  You  never  had 
any  children,  had  you  ?  " 

"  No,  "  replied  Tellmarch. 

"  And  I  —  I  had  nothing  besides  them.  What  am  I 
without  my  children  ?  I  should  like  to  have  somebody 
explain  to  me  why  I  have  not  my  children.  I  feel  that 
things  happen,  but  I  do  not  understand.  They  killed 
my  husband  ;  they  shot  me  :  all  the  same,  I  do  .not 
understand  it.  " 

"Come,"  said  Tellmarch,  "there  is  the  fever  taking 
fou  again.     Do  not  talk  any  more.  " 

She  looked  at  him  and  relapsed  into  silence.  From 
this  day  she  spoke  no  more.  Tellmarch  was  obeyed 
more  absolutely  than  he  liked.  She  spent  long  hours 
of  stupefaction,  crouched  at  the  foot  of  an  old  tree.     She 


274,       '  NINETY-THREE. 

dreamed,  and  held  her  peace.  Silence  makes  an  impene* 
trable  refuge  for  simple  souls  that  have  been  down  into 
the  innermost  depths  of  suffering.  She  seemed  to  re- 
linquish all  effort  to  understand.  To  a  certain  extent 
despair  is  unintelligible  to  the  despairing. 

Tellmarch  studied  her  with  sympathetic  interest.  In 
presence  of  this  anguish  the  old  man  had  thoughts  such 
as  might  have  come  to  a  woman.  "  Oh,  yes,  "  he  said  to 
himself,  "  her  lips  do  not  speak,  but  her  eyes  talk.  I 
know  well  what  is  the  matter,  —  what  her  one  idea  is. 
To  have  been  a  mother,  and  to  be  one  no  longer  !  To 
have  been  a  nurse,  and  to  be  so  no  more  !  She  cannot  re- 
sign herself.  She  thinks  about  the  tiniest  child  of  all, 
that  she  was  nursing  not  long  ago.  She  thinks  of  it; 
thinks,  thinks.  In  truth,  it  must  be  so  sweet  to  feel  a 
little  rosy  mouth  that  draws  your  very  soul  out  of  your 
body,  and  who,  with  the  life  that  is  yours,  makes  a  life 
for  itself.  "  He  kept  silence  on  his  side,  comprehending 
the  impotency  of  speech  in  face  of  an  absorption  like 
this.  The  persistence  of  an  all-absorbing  idea  is  terrible. 
And  how  to  make  a  mother  thus  beset  hear  reason? 
Maternity  is  inexplicable;  you  cannot  argue  with  it. 
That  it  is  which  renders  a  mother  sublime  ;  she  becomes 
unreasoning  ;  the  maternal  instinct  is  divinely  animal. 
The  mother  is  no  longer  a  woman,  she  is  a  wild  creature  ; 
her  children  are  her  cubs.  Hence  in  the  mother  there 
is  something  at  once  inferior  and  superior  to  -argument. 
A  mother  has  an  unerring  instinct.  The  immense  mys- 
terious Will  of  creation  is  within  her  and  guides  her. 
Hers  is  a  blindness  superhumanly  enlightened. 

Now  Tellmarch  desired  to  make  this  unhappy  creature 
speak  ;  he  did  not  succeed.  On  one  occasion  he  said  to 
her:  "  As  ill-luck  will  have  it,  I  am  old,  and  I  cannot 
walk  any  longer.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
my  strength  is  exhausted,  and  I  am  obliged  to  rest  :  if 


A  HEALED  BREAST;  A  BLEEDING  HEART.  275 

it  were  not  for  that  I  would  accompany  you.  After  all, 
perhaps  it  is  fortunate  that  I  cannot.  I  should  be  rather 
a  burden  than  useful  to  you.  I  am  tolerated  here  ;  but 
the  Blues  are  suspicious  of  me,  as  being  a  peasant  ;  and 
the  peasants  suspect  me  of  being  a  wizard.  " 

He  waited  for  her  to  reply.  She  did  not  even  raise  her 
eyes.  A  fixed  idea  ends  in  madness  or  heroism.  But  of 
what  heroism  is  a  poor  peasant  woman  capable  ?  None. 
She  can  be  a  mother,  and  that  is  all.  Each  day  she 
buried  herself  deeper  in  her  reverie.  Tellmarch  watched 
her.  He  tried  to  give  her  occupation  ;  he  brought  her 
needles  and  thread  and  a  thimble  ;  and  at  length,  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  poor  Caimand,  she  began  some  sewing. 
She  dreamed,  but  she  worked,  —  a  sign  of  health  ;  her 
energy  was  returning  little  by  little.  She  mended  her 
linen,  her  garments,  her  shoes  ;  but  her  eyes  looked  cold 
and  glassy  as  ever.  As  she  bent  over  her  needle,  she 
sang  unearthly  melodies  in  a  low  voice.  She  murmured 
names,  —  probably  the  names  of  children,  — but  not  dis- 
tinctly enough  for  Tellmarch  to  catch  them.  She  would 
break  off  abruptly  and  listen  to  the  birds,  as  if  she 
thought  they  might  have  brought  her  tidings.  She 
watched  the  weather.  Her  lips  would  move,  — she  was 
speaking  low  to  herself.  She  made  a  bag  and  filled  it 
with  chestnuts.  One  morning  Tellmarch  saw  her  pre- 
paring to  set  forth,  her  eyes  gazing  away  into  the  depths 
of  the  forest. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  replied,  "  I  am  going  to  look  for  them.  v 

He  did  not  attempt  to  detain  her. 


CHAPTEE  VIL 

THE   TWO   POLES   OF   THE   TRUTH. 

AT  the  end  of  a  few  weeks,  which  had  been  filled 
with  the  vicissitudes  of  civil  war,  the  district  of 
Fougères  could  talk  of  nothing  but  the  two  men  who 
were  opposed  to  each  other,  and  yet  were  occupied  in 
the  same  work  ;  that  is,  fighting  side  by  side  the  great 
revolutionary  combat. 

The  savage  Vendean  duel  continued,  but  the  Vendée 
was  losing  ground.  In  Ille-et-Vilaine  in  particular, 
thanks  to  the  young  commander  who  had  at  Dol  so 
opportunely  replied  to  the  audacity  of  six  thousand 
royalists  by  the  audacity  of  fifteen  hundred  patriots, 
the  insurrection,  if  not  quelled,  was  at  least  greatly 
weakened  and  circumscribed.  Several  lucky  hits  had 
followed  that  one,  and  out  of  these  successes  had  grown 
a  new  position  of  affairs.  Matters  had  changed  their 
face,  but  a  singular  complication  had  arisen. 

In  all  this  portion  of  the  Vendée  the  Eepublic  had 
the  upper  hand, —  that  was  beyond  a  doubt.  But  which 
republic  ?  In  the  triumph  which  was  opening  out,  two 
forms  of  republic  made  themselves  felt, — the  republic 
of  terror,  and  the  republic  of  clemency  ;  the  one  desirous 
to  conquer  by  rigour,  and  the  other  by  mildness.  Which 
would  prevail  ?  These  two  forms  —  the  conciliating  and 
the  implacable  —  were  represented  by  two  men,  each  of 
whom  possessed  his  special  influence  and  authority  :  the 
one  a  military  commander,  the  other  a  civil  delegate. 
Which  of  them  would  prevail? 


THE  TWO  POLES  OF  THE  TRUTH.  277 

One  of  the  two,  the  delegate,  had  a  formidable  basis 
of  support;  he  had  arrived  bearing  the  threatening 
watchword  of  the  Paris  'Commune  to  the  battalions  of 
San  terre  :  "  No  mercy  ;  no  quarter  !  "  He  had,  in  order 
to  put  everything  under  his  control,  the  decree  of  the 
Convention,  ordaining  "  death  to  whomsoever  should  set 
at  liberty  and  help  a  captive  rebel  chief  to  escape.  "  He 
had  full  powers,  emanating  from  the  Committee  of  Pub- 
lic Safety,  and  an  injunction  commanding  obedience  to 
him  as  delegate,  signed  Robespierre,  Danton,  Marat. 
The  other,  the  soldier,  had  on  his  side  only  this  strength, 
> — pity.  He  had  only  his  own  arm,  which  chastised 
the  enemy  ;  and  his  heart,  which  pardoned  them.  A 
conqueror,  he  believed  that  he  had  the  right  to  spare  the 
conquered. 

Hence  arose  a  conflict,  hidden  but  deep,  between  these 
two  men.  The  two  stood  in  different  atmospheres  ;  both 
combating  the  rebellion,  and  each  having  his  own  thun- 
derbolt, —  that  of  the  one,  victory  ;  that  of  the  other, 
terror. 

Throughout  all  the  Bocage  nothing  was  talked  of  but 
them  ;  and  what  added  to  the  anxiety  of  those  who 
watched  them  from  every  quarter  was  the  fact  that  these 
two  men  so  diametrically  opposed  were  at  the  same  time 
closely  united.  These  two  antagonists  were  friends. 
Never  sympathy  loftier  and  more  profound  joined  two 
hearts  ;  the  stern  had  saved  the  life  of  th>°  clement,  and 
bore  on  his  face  the  wound  received  in  the  effort.  These 
two  men  were  the  incarnation,  —  the  one  of  life,  the 
other  of  death  ;  the  one  was  the  principle  of  destruction, 
the  other  of  peace,  and  they  loved  each  other.  Strange 
problem  !  Imagine  Orestes  merciful  and  Pylades  piti- 
less.    Picture  Arimanes  the  brother  of  Ormus  ! 

Let  us  add  that  the  one  of  the  pair  who  was  called 
*  the  ferocious  "  was,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  broth- 


278  NINETY-THREE. 

erly  of  men.  He  dressed  the  wounded,  cared  for  the 
sick,  passed  his  days  and  nights  in  the  ambulance  and 
hospitals,  was  touched  by  the  sight  of  barefooted  children, 
had  nothing  for  himself,  gave  all  to  the  poor.  He  was 
present  at  all  the  battles  ;  he  marched  at  the  head  of  the 
columns  and  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  armed,  —  for 
he  had  in  his  belt  a  sabre  and  two  pistols,  —  yet  dis- 
armed, because  no  one  had  ever  seen  him  draw  his  sabre 
or  touch  his  pistols.  He  faced  blows,  and  did  not  return 
them.     It  was  said  that  he  had  been  a  priest. 

One  of  these  men  was  Gauvain  ;  the  other  was 
Cimourdain.  There  was  friendship  between  the  two 
men,  but  hatred  between  the  two  principles  ;  this  hid- 
den war  could  not  fail  to  burst  forth.  One  morning  the 
battle  began. 

Cimourdain  said  to  Gauvain  :  "  What  have  we  accom- 
plished ?  " 

Gauvain  replied  :  "  You  know  as  well  as  I.  I  have 
dispersed  Lantenac's  bands.  He  has  only  a  few  men 
left.  Then  he  is  driven  back  to  the  forest  of  Fougères. 
In  eight  days  he  will  be  surrounded.  " 

"  And  in  fifteen  days  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  taken.  " 

■  And  then  ?  " 

"  You  have  read  my  notice  ?  * 

"  Yes.     Well  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  shot.  " 

"  More  clemency  !     He  must  be  guillotined.  * 

"  As  for  me,  "  said  Gauvain,  "  I  am  for  a  military 
death.  " 

"  And  I,  "  relied  Cimourdain,  "  for  a  revolutionary 
death.  "  He  looked  Gauvain  in  the  face,  and  added  : 
"  Why  did  you  set  at  liberty  those  nuns  of  the  convent 
of  Saint  Marc-le -Blanc  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  make  war  on  women.  "  answered  Gauvain. 


THE  TWO  POLES  OF  THE  TRUTH.  279 

>  *  Those  women  hate  the  people  ;  and  where  hate  is 
concerned,  one  woman  outweighs  ten  men.  Why  did 
you  refuse  to  send  to  the  revolutionary  tribunal  all  that 
herd  of  old  fanatical  priests  who  were  taken  at  Louvigné  X  " 

"  I  do  not  make  war  on  old  men.  " 

"  An  old  priest  is  worse  than  a  young  one.  Kebellion 
is  more  dangerous  preached  by  white  hairs.  Men  have 
faith  in  wrinkles.  No  false  pity,  Gauvain  !  The  regi- 
cides are  liberators.  Keep  your  eye  fixed  on  the  tower 
of  the  Temple.  * 

"  The  Temple  tower  !  I  would  bring  the  Dauphin  out 
of  it.      I  do  not  make  war  on  children.  " 

Cimourdain's  eyes  grew  stern.  "  Gauvain,  learn  that 
it  is  necessary  to  make  war  on  a  woman  when  she  calls 
herself  Marie  Antoinette,  on  an  old  man  when  he  is 
named  Pius  VI.  and  Pope,  and  upon  a  child  when  he 
is  named  Louis  Capet  " 

"  My  master,  I  am  not  a  politician.  " 

"  Try  not  to  be  a  dangerous  man.  Why,  at  the  attack 
on  the  post  of  Cossé,  when  the  rebel  Jean  Treton,  driven 
back  and  lost,  flung  himself  alone,  sabre  in  hand, 
against  the  whole  column,  didst  thou  cry,  '  Open  the 
ranks  !      Let  him  pass  '  ?  " 

*  Because  one  does  not  set  fifteen  hundred  to  kill  a 
single  man.  " 

"  Why,  at  the  Cailleterie  d'Astillé,  when  you  saw 
your  soldiers  about  to  kill  the  Vendean  Joseph  Bézier, 
who  was  wounded  and  dragging  himself  along,  did  you 
exclaim,  '  Go  on  before  !  This  is  my  affair  !  '  and  then 
fire  your  pistol  in  the  air  ?  " 

"  Because  one  does  not  kill  a  man  on  the  ground.  " 

"  And  you  were  wrong.  Both  are  to-day  chiefs  of 
bands.  Joseph  Be^ier  is  Mustache,  and  Jean  Treton  is 
Jambe  d'Argent.  In  saving  those  two  men  you  gave 
two  enemies  to  the  Kepublic.  " 


Z6i)  NINETY-THREE, 

"  Certainly  I  could  wish  to  give  her  friends,  and  nofc 
enemies.  " 

"  Why,  after  the  victory  of  Landéan,  did  you  not 
shoot  your  three  hundred  peasant  prisoners  ?  " 

"  Because  Bonchamp  had  shown  mercy  to  the  repub- 
lican prisoners,  and  I  wanted  it  said  that  the  Bepublic 
showed  mercy  to  the  royalist  prisoners.  " 

"  But,  then,  if  you  take  Lantenac  you  will  pardon 
him  ?  " 

"  No.  * 

"  Why  ?  Since  you  showed  mercy  to  the  three  hun- 
dred peasants  ?  " 

"  The  peasants  are  ignorant  men  ;  Lantenac  knows 
what  he  does.  " 

"  But  Lantenac  is  your  kinsman.  " 

"  France  is  the  nearest.  " 

"  Lantenac  is  an  old  man.  " 

"  Lantenac  is  a  stranger.  Lantenac  has  no  age.  Lan- 
tenac summons  the  English.  Lantenac  is  invasion. 
Lantenac  is  the  enemy  of  the  country.  The  duel  be- 
tween him  and  me  can  only  finish  by  his  death  or 
mine.  " 

"  Gauvain,  remember  this  vow,  " 

"  It  is  sworn.  " 

There  was  silence,  and  the  two  looked  at  each  other. 

Then  Gauvain  resumed  :  "  It  will  be  a  bloody  date, 
this  year  '93  in  which  we  live.  " 

"  Take  care  !  "  cried  Cimourdain.  "  Terrible  duties 
exist.  Do  not  accuse  that  which  is  not  accusable. 
Since  when  is  it  that  the  illness  is  the  fault  of  the  phy- 
sician ?  Yes,  the  characteristic  of  this  tremendous  year 
is  its  pitilessness.  Why  ?  Because  it  is  the  grand  revo- 
lutionary year.  This  year  in  which  we  live  is  the  in- 
carnation of  the  Bevolution.  The  Bevolution  has  an 
enemy,  — the  old  world,  — and  it  is  without  pity  for  it; 


THE  TWO  POLES  OF  THE  TRUTH.  281 

ju3t  as  the  surgeon  has  an  enemy,  — gangrene,  — and  is 
without  pity  for  it.  The  Eevolution  extirpates  royalty 
in  the  king,  aristocracy  in  the  noble,  despotism  in  the 
soldier,  superstition  in  the  priest,  barbarism  in  the 
judge  ;  in  a  word,  everything  which  is  tyranny,  in  all 
which  is  the  tyrant.  The  operation  is  fearful  ;  the 
Eevolution  performs  it  with  a  sure  hand.  As  to  the 
amount  of  sound  flesh  which  it  sacrifices,  demand  of 
Boerhaave  what  he  thinks  in  regard  to  that.  What 
tumour  does  not  cause  a  loss  of  blood  in  its  cutting 
away  ?  Does  not  the  extinguishing  of  a  conflagration 
demand  an  energy  as  fierce  as  that  of  the  fire  itself  ? 
These  formidable  necessities  are  the  very  condition  of 
success.  A  surgeon  resembles  a  butcher  ;  a  healer  may 
have  the  appearance  of  an  executioner.  The  Eevolution 
devotes  itself  to  its  fatal  work.  It  mutilates,  but  it 
saves.  What  !  you  demand  pity  for  the  virus  ?  You 
wish  it  to  be  merciful  to  that  which  is  poisonous  ?  It 
will  not  listen.  It  holds  the  post, —  it  will  extermi- 
nate it.  It  makes  a  deep  wound  in  civilization,  from 
whence  will  spring  health  to  the  human  race.  You 
suffer?  Without  doubt.  How  long  will  it  last?  The 
time  necessary  for  the  operation.  After  that  you  will 
live.  The  Eevolution  amputates  the  world.  Hence  this 
haemorrhage,  —  '93.  " 

"  The  surgeon  is  calm,  "  said  Gauvain,  "  and  the  men 
that  I  see  are  violent.  " 

"  The  Eevolution,  "  replied  Cimourdain,  "  needs  savage 
workmen  to  aid  it!  It  pushes  aside  every  hand  that 
trembles.  It  has  only  faith  in  the  inexorables.  Danton 
is  the  terrible  -,  Eobespierre  is  the  inflexible  ;  Saint- Just 
is  the  immovable,  Marat  is  the  implacable.  Take  care, 
Gauvain  !  these  names  are  necessary.  They  are  worth 
as  much  as  armies  to  us  ;  they  will  terrify  Europe.  " 

u  And  perhaps  the  future  also, n  said  Gauvain.     He 


282  NINETY-THREE. 

checked  himself,  and  resumed  :  "  For  that  matter,  my 
master,  you  err.  I  accuse  no  one.  According  to  me, 
the  true  point  of  view  of  the  Eevolution  is  its  irrespon- 
sibility. Nobody  is  innocent,  nobody  is  guilty.  Louis 
XVI.  is  a  sheep  thrown  among  lions  :  he  wishes  to 
escape,  he  tries  to  flee,  he  seeks  to  defend  himself  ;  he 
would  bite  if  he  could.  But  one  is  not  a  lion  at  will  ; 
his  craze  to  be  one  passes  for  crime.  This  enraged 
sheep  shows  his  teeth  :  '  The  traitor  !  '  cry  the*  lions  ;  and 
they  eat  him.   That  done,  they  fight  among  themselves.  " 

"  The  sheep  is  a  brute.  " 

"  And  the  lions,  what  are  they  ?  " 

This  retort  set  Cimourdain  thinking.  He  raised  his 
head,  and  answered  :  "  These  lions  are  consciences. 
These  lions  are  ideas.      These  lions  are  principles,  " 

"  They  produce  the  reign  of  Terror.  " 

"  One  day,  the  Eevolution  will  be  the  justification  of 
this  Terror.  " 

"  Beware  lest  the  Terror  become  the  calumny  of  the 
Eevolution.  "  Gauvain  continued  :  "  Liberty,  Equality, 
Fraternity, —  these  are  the  dogmas  of  peace  and  harmony. 
Why  give  them  an  alarming  at-pect?  What  is  it  we 
want  ?  To  bring  the  peoples  to  a  universal  republic. 
Well,  do  not  let  us  make  them  afraid.  What  can  in- 
timidation serve  ?  The  people  can  no  more  be  attracted 
by  a  scarecrow  than  birds  can.  One  must  not  do  evil  to 
bring  about  good;  one  does  not  overturn  the  throne  in 
order  to  leave  the  gibbet  standing.  Death  to  kings,  and 
life  to  nations  !  Strike  off  the  crowns  ;  spare  the  heads  ! 
The  Eevolution  is  concord,  not  fright.  Clement  ideas 
are  ill  served  by  cruel  men.  Amnesty  is  to  me  the 
most  beautiful  word  in  human  language.  I  will  only 
shed  blood  in  risking  my  own.  Besides,  I  simply  know 
how  to  fight  ;  I  am  nothing  but  a  soldier.  But  if  I  may 
not  pardon,  victory  is  not  worth  the  trouble  it  costs. 


THE  TWO  POLES  OF  THE  TRUTH.  283 

During  battle  let  us  be  the  enemies  of  our  enemies,  and 
after  the  victory  their  brothers.  " 

"  Take  care  !  "  repeated  Cimourdain,  for  the  third 
time.  "  Gauvain,  you  are  more  to  me  than  a  son  ;  take 
care  !  "  Then  he  added  thoughtfully  :  "  In  a  period  like 
ours,  pity  may  become  one  of  the  forms  of  treason.  " 

Any  one  listening  to  the  talk  of  these  two  men  might 
have  fancied  he  heard  a  dialogue  between  the  sword  and 
the  axe. 


CHAPTEK  VIH 

DOLOROSA. 

IN  the  mean  while  the  mother  was  seeking  her  little 
ones.  She  went  straight  forward.  How  did  she 
live  ?  It  is  impossible  to  say  ;  she  did  not  know  her- 
self. She  walked  day  and  night,  she  begged,  she  ate 
herbs,  she  lay  on  the  ground ,  she  slept  in  the  open 
air,  in  the  thickets,  under  the  stars,  sometimes  in  the 
rain  and  wind.  She  wandered  from  village  to  village, 
from  farm  to  farm,  seeking  a  clew.  She  stopped  on  the 
thresholds  of  the  peasants'  cots.  Her  dress  was  in  rags. 
Sometimes  she  was  welcomed,  sometimes  she  was  driven 
away  ;  when  she  could  not  get  into  the  houses,  she  went 
into  the  woods.  She  did  not  know  the  district;  she 
was  ignorant  of  everything  except  Siscoignard  and  the 
parish  of  Aze\  She  had  no  route  marked  out;  she  re- 
traced her  steps,  travelled  roads  already  gone  over,  made 
useless  journeys  ;  sometimes  she  followed  the  highway, 
sometimes  a  cart-track,  as  often  the  paths  among  the 
copses.  In  these  aimless  wanderings  she  had  worn  out 
her  miserable  garments  ;  she  had  shoes  at  first,  then  she 
walked  barefoot,  then  with  her  feet  bleeding.  She  crossed 
the  track  of  warfare,  among  gun-shots,  hearing,  nothing, 
seeing  nothing,  avoiding  nothing,  —  seeking  her  chil- 
dren. Eevolt  was  everywhere  ;  there  were  no  more  gen- 
darmes, no  more  mayors,  no  authorities  of  any  sort. 
She  had  only  to  deal  with  chance  passers.  She  spoke 
to  them,  she  asked, — 


DOLOROSA.  285 

"  Have  you  seen  three  little  children  anywhere  ?  * 

Those  she  addressed  would  look  at  her. 

"  Two  boys  and  a  girl,  "  she  would  say.  Then  she 
would  name  them  :  "  Kené-Jean,  Gros-Alain,  Georgette. 
You  have  not  seen  them  ?  " 

,  She  would  ramble  on  thus  :  "  The  eldest  is  four  years 
and  a  half  old  ;  the  little  girl  is  twenty  months.  "  Then 
would  come  the  cry  :  "  Do  you  know  where  they  are  ? 
They  have  been  taken  from  me.  " 

The  listeners  would  stare  at  her,  and  that  was  all. 

When  she  saw  that  she  was  not  understood,  she  would 
say  :  "  It  is  because  they  belong  to  me,  —  that  is  why.  " 

The  people  would  pass  on  their  way.  Then  she  would 
stand  still,  uttering  no  further  word,  but  digging  at  her 
breast  with  her  nails. 

However,  one  day,  a  peasant  listened  to  her.  The 
good  man  set  himself  to  thinking.  "  Wait,  now,  "  said 
he.     "  Three  children  ?  " 

"  Yes.  "■ 

"  Two  boys  —  " 

"  And  a  girl.  " 

"  You  are  hunting  for  them  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

*  I  have  heard  talk  of  a  lord  who  had  taken  three 
little  children,   and  had  them  with  him.  " 

''  Where  is  this  man  ?  "  she  cried.    "  Where  are  they  ?  * 

The  peasant  replied  :  "  Go  to  La  Tourgue.  * 

"Shall  I  find  my  children  there  ?  M 

"  It  may  easily  be.  * 

«  You  say—  » 

"  La  Tourgue.  " 

"  What  is  that,  —  La  Tourgue  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  place.  " 

"  Is  it  a  village,  a  castle,  a  farm  I  * 

"  I  never  was  there.  n 


286  NINETY-THREE. 

*  Is  it  far  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  near.  " 

il  In  which  direction  ?  " 

"  Toward  Fougères.  " 

"  Which  way  must  I  go  ?  " 

*  You  are  at  Ventortes,  "  said  the  peasant  ;  "  you  must 
leave  Ernée  to  the  left  and  Coxelles  to  the  right  ;  you 
will  pass  by  Lorchamps  and  cross  the  Leroux.  "  He 
pointed  his  finger  to  the  west.  "  Always  straight  before 
you  and  toward  the  sunset.  " 

Ere.  the  peasant  had  dropped  his  arm,  she  was  hurry- 
ing on. 

He  cried  after  her  :  "  But  take  care.  They  are  fight- 
ing over  there.  " 

She  did  not  answer  or  turn  round;  on  she  went 
straight  before  her. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

A  PROVINCIAL   BASTILE. 

1.   La  Tourgue. 

FOETY  years  ago,  a  traveller  who  entered  the  forest 
of  Fougères  from  the  side  of  Laignelet,  and  left  it 
toward  Parignë,  was  met  on  the  border  of  this  vast  old 
wood  by  a  sinister  spectacle.  As  he  came  out  of  the 
thickets,  La  Tourgue  rose  abruptly  before  him.  Not  La 
Tourgue  living,  but  La  Tourgue  dead,  —  La  Tourgue 
cracked,  battered,   seamed,  dismantled. 

The  ruin  of  an  edifice  is  as  much  its  ghost  as  a  phan- 
tom is  that  of  man.  No  more  lugubrious  vision  could 
strike  the  gaze  than  that  of  La  Tourgue.  What  the 
traveller  had  before  his  eyes  was  a  lofty  round  tower, 
standing  alone  at  the  corner  of  the  wood  like  a  malefac- 
tor. This  tower,  rising  from  a  perpendicular  rock,  was 
so  severe  and  solid  that  it  looked  almost  like  a  bit  of 
Eoman  architecture,  and  the  frowning  mass  gave  the 
idea  of  strength  even  amid  its  ruin.  It  was  Eoman 
in  a  way,  since  it  was  Eomanic.  Begun  in  the  ninth 
century,  it  had  been  finished  in  the  twelfth,  after  the 
third  Crusade.  The  peculiar  ornaments  of  the  mould- 
ings told  its  age.  On  ascending  the  height,  one  per- 
ceived a  breach  in  the  wall  ;  if  one  ventured  to  enter,  he 
found  himself  within  the  tower,  —  it  was  empty.  It 
resembled  somewhat  the  inside  of  a  stone  trumpet  set 
upright  on  the  ground,  - —  from  top  to  bottom  no  parti- 
tions, no  ceilings,  no  floors.      There  were  places  where 


288  NINETY-THREE. 

arches  and  chimneys  had  been  torn  away;  falconet 
embrasures  were  seen  ;  at  different  heights,  rows  of 
granite  corbels  and  a  few  transverse  beams  marked  where 
the  different  stories  had  been  :  these  beams  were  covered 
with  the  ordure  of  night-birds.  The  colossal  wall  was 
fifteen  feet  in  thickness  at  the  base  and  twelve  at  the 
summit  ;  here  and  there  were  chinks  and  holes  which 
had  been  doors,  through  which  one  caught  glimpses  of 
staircases  in  the  shadowy  interior  of  the  wall.  The 
passer-by  who  penetrated  there  at  evening  heard  the  cry 
of  the  wood-owl,  the  goat-suckers,  and  the  bats,  and 
saw  beneath  his  feet  brambles,  stones,  reptiles,  and 
above  his  head,  across  a  black  circle  which  looked  like 
the  mouth  of  an  enormous  well,  he  could  perceive  the 
stars. 

The  neighbourhood  kept  a  tradition  that  in  the  upper 
stories  of  this  tower  there  were  secret  doors  formed  like 
those  in  the  tombs  of  the  kings  of  Judah,  of  great  stones 
turning  on  pivots,  opening  by  a  spring,  and  forming 
part  of  the  wall  when  closed, —  an  architectural  mystery 
which  the  Crrsaders  had  brought  from  the  East  along 
with  the  pointed  arch.  When  these  doors  were  shut, 
it  was  impossible  to  discover  them,  so  accurately  were 
they  fitted  into  the  other  stones.  At  this  day  such 
doors  may  still  be  seen  in  those  mysterious  cities  of  the 
Anti-Libanus  which  escaped  the  burial  of  the  twelve 
towns  in  the  time  of  Tiberius. 


2.    The  Breach. 

The  breach  by  which  one  entered  the  ruin  had  been 
the  opening  of  a  mine.  For  a  connoisseur,  familiar 
with  Errard,  Sardi,  and  Pagan,  this  mine  had  been  skil- 
fully planned.  The  fire-chamber,  shaped  like  a  mitre, 
was  proportioned  to  the  strength  of  the  keep  it  had  been 


A  PROVINCIAL  BASTILE.  289 

intended  to  disembowel  ;  it  must  have  held  at  least  two 
hundredweight  of  powder.  The  channel  was  serpentine, 
which  does  better  service  than  a  straight  one.  The 
crumbling  of  the  mine  left  naked  among  the  broken 
stones  the  saucisse  which  had  the  requisite  diameter, 
that  of  a  hen's  egg.  The  explosion  had  left  a  deep  rent 
in  the  wall  by  which  the  besiegers  could  enter. 

This  tower  had  evidently  sustained  at  different  periods 
real  sieges  conducted  according  to  rule.  It  was  scarred 
with  balls,  and  these  balls  were  not  all  of  the  same 
epoch.  Each  projectile  has  its  peculiar  way  of  marking 
a  rampart  ;  and  those  of  every  sort  had  left  their  traces 
on  this  keep,  from  the  stone  balls  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury to  the  iron  ones  of  the  eighteenth.  The  breach 
gave  admittance  into  what  must  have  been  the  ground- 
floor.  In  the  wall  of  the  tower  opposite  the  breach  there 
opened  the  gateway  of  a  crypt  cut  in  the  rock,  and 
stretching  among  the  foundations  of  the  tower  under  the 
whole  extent  of  the  ground-floor  hall.  This  crypt,  three 
fourths  filled  up,  was  cleared  out  in  1855  under  the 
direction  of  Monsieur  Auguste  le  Prévost,  the  antiquary 
of  Bernay. 

3.    The  Oubliette. 

This  crypt  was  the  oubliette.  Every  keep  had  one. 
This  crypt,  like  many  penal  prisons  of  that  era,  had  two 
stories.  The  upper  floor,  which  was  entered  by  the 
wicket,  was  a  vaulted  '  chamber  of  considerable  size,  on 
a  level  with  the  ground-floor  hall.  '  On  the  walls  could 
be  seen  two  parallel  and  vertical  furrows,  extending 
from  one  side  to  the  other,  and  passing  along  the  vault 
of  the  roof,  in  which  they  had  left  deep  ruts  like  old 
wheel-tracks.  It  was  what  they  were  in  fact;  these 
two  furrows  had  been  hollowed  by  two  wheels.     For- 


290  NINETY-THREE. 

merly,  in  feudal  days,  victims  were  torn  limb  from  limb 
in  this  chamber  by  a  method  less  noisy  than  dragging 
them  at  the  tails  of  horses.  There  had  been  two  wheels, 
so  immense  that  they  touched  the  walls  and  an  arch. 
To  each  of  these  wheels  an  arm  and  a  leg  of  the  victim 
were  attached  ;  then  the  wheels  were  turned  in  the  in- 
verse direction,  which  crushed  the  man.  It  required 
great  force  ;  hence  the  furrows  which  the  wheels  had 
worn  in  the  wall  as  they  grazed  it.  A  chamber  of  this 
kind  may  still  be  seen  at  Yianden. 

Below  this  room  there  was  another.  That  was  the 
real  dungeon.  It  was  not  entered  by  a  door  ;  one  pene- 
trated into  it  by  a  hole.  The  victim,  stripped  naked, 
was  let  down  by  means  of  a  rope  placed  under  his  arm- 
pits into  the  dungeon,  through  an  opening  left  in  the 
centre  of  the  flagging  of  the  upper  chamber.  If  he  per- 
sisted in  living,  food  was  flung  to  him  through  this 
aperture.  A  hole  of  this  sort  may  yet  be  seen  at  Bouil- 
lon.    The  wind  swept  up  through  this  opening. 

The  lower  room,  dug  out  beneath  the  ground-floor 
hall,  was  a  well  rather  than  a  chamber.  It  had  water 
at  the  bottom,  and  an  icy  wind  filled  it.  This  wind, 
which  killed  the  prisoner  in  the  depths,  preserved  the 
life  of  the  captive  in  the  room  above  ;  it  rendered  his 
prison  respirable.  The  captive  above,  groping  about 
beneath  his  vault,  only  got  air  by  this  hole.  For  the 
rest,  whatever  entered  or  fell  there  could  not  get  out 
again.  It  was  for  the  prisoner  to  be  cautious  in  the 
darkness.  A  false  step  might  make  the  prisoner  in  the 
upper  room  a  prisoner  in  the  dungeon  below.  That  was 
his  affair.  If  he  clung  to  life,  this  hole  was  a  peril  ;  if 
he  wished  to  be  rid  of  it,  this  hole  was  his  resource. 
The  upper  floor  was  the  dungeon  ;  the  lower,  the  tomb, 
a  superposition  which  resembled  society  at  that  period. 
It  was  what  our  ancestors  called  a  moat-dungeon.     The 


A  PROVINCIAL  BASTILE.  291 

thing  having  disappeared,  the  name  has  no  longer  any 
significance  in  our  ears.  Thanks  to  the  Eevolution,  we 
hear  the  words  pronounced  with  indifference. 

Outside  the  tower,  above  the  breach,  which  forty 
years  since  was  the  only  means  of  ingress,  might  be 
seen  an  opening  larger  than  the  other  loophole,  from 
which  hung  an  iron  grating  bent  and  loosened. 

4.    The  Bridge-  Castle. 

On  the  opposite  side  from  the  breach  a  stone  bridge 
was  connected  with  the  tower,  having  three  arches  still 
in  almost  perfect  preservation.  This  bridge  had  sup- 
ported a  building  of  which  some  fragments  remained. 
It  had  evidently  been  destroyed  by  fire  ;  there  were  left 
only  portions  of  the  framework,  between  whose  black- 
ened ribs  the  daylight  peeped,  as  it  rose  beside  the 
tower  like  a  skeleton  beside  a  phantom.  This  ruin  is  to- 
day completely  demolished,  —  not  a  trace  of  it  is  left.  It 
only  needs  one  day  and  a  single  peasant  to  destroy  that 
which  it  took  many  centuries  and  many  kings  to  build. 

La  Tourgue  is  a  rustic  abbreviation  for  La  Tour- 
Gauvain,  just  as  La  Jupelle  stands  for  La  Jupellière, 
and  Pinson-le-Tort,  the  nickname  of  a  hunchbacked 
leader,  is  put  for  Pinson-le-Tortu.  La  Tourgue,  which 
forty  years  since  was  a  ruin,  and  which  is  to-day  a 
shadow,  was  a  fortress  in  1793.  It  was  the  old  bastile 
of  the  Gauvains  ;  toward  the  west  guarding  the  entrance 
to  the  forest  of  Fougères,  —  a  forest  which  is  itself  now 
hardly  a  grove.  This  citadel  had  been  built  on  one  of 
the  great  blocks  of  slate  which  abound  between  Mayenne 
and  Dinan,  scattered  everywhere  among  the  thickets  and 
heaths,  like  missiles  that  had  been  flung  in  some  conflict 
between  Titans.  The  tower  made  up  the  entire  fortress  ; 
beneath  the  tower  was  the  rock,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 


292  NINETY-THREE. 

rock  one  of  those  water-courses  which  the  month  of 
January  turns  into  a  torrent,  and  which  the  month  of 
June  dries  up. 

Thus  protected,  this  fortress  was  in  the  Middle  A»es 
almost  impregnable.  The  bridge  alone  weakened  it. 
The  Gothic  Gauvains  had  built  without  bridge.  They 
got  into  it  by  one  of  those  swinging  foot-bridges  which 
a  blow  of  an  axe  sufficed  to  break  away.  As  long  as  the 
Gauvains  remained  viscounts  they  contented  themselves 
with  this;  but  when  they  became  marquises  and  left 
the  cavern  for  the  court,  they  flung  three  arches  across 
the  torrent,  and  made  themselves  accessible  on  the  side 
of  the  plain  just  as  they  had  made  themselves  accessible 
to  the  king.  The  marquises  of  the  seventeenth  century 
and  the  marquises  of  the  eighteenth  no  longer  wished  to 
be  impregnable.  An  imitation  of  Versailles  replaced 
the  traditions  of  their  ancestors. 

Facing  the  tower,  on  the  western  side,  was  a  high 
plateau  which  ended  in  two  plains  ;  this  plateau  almost 
touched  the  tower,  only  separated  from  it  by  a  very  deep 
ravine,  through  which  ran  the  water-course,  which  was 
a  tributary  of  the  Couesnon.  The  bridge  which  joined 
the  fortress  and  the  plateau  was  built  up  high  on  piers  ; 
and  on  these  piers  was  constructed,  as  at  Chenonceaux, 
an  edifice  in  the  Mansard  style,  more  habitable  than  the 
tower.  But  customs  were  still  very  rude  ;  the  lords 
continued  to  occupy  chambers  in  the  keep  which  were 
like  dungeons.  The  building  on  the  bridge,  which  was 
a  sort  of  small  castle,  was  made  into  a  long  corridor, 
that  served  as  an  entrance,  and  was  called  the  hall  of 
the  guards  ;  above  this  hall  of  the  guards,  which  was  a 
kind  of  entresol,  a  library  was  built  ;  above  the  library, 
a  granary.  Long  windows,  with  small  panes  in  Bohe- 
mian glass  ;  pilasters  between  the  windows  ;  medallions 
sculptured  on  the  wall  ;  three  stories  :  below,  bartizans 


A  PROVINCIAL  BASTILE.  293 

and  muskets  ;  in  the  middle,  books  ;  on  high,  sacks  of 
oats,  —the  whole  at  once  somewhat  savage  and  very 
princely. 

The  tower  rose  gloomy  and  stern  at  the  side.  It  over- 
looked this  coquettish  building  with  all  its  lugubrious 
height.     From  its  platform  one  could  destroy  the  bridge. 

The  two  edifices  —  the  one  rude,  the  other  elegant  — 
clashed  rather  than  contrasted.  The  two  styles  had 
nothing  in  keeping  with  each  other.  Although  it 
should  seem  that  two  semicircles  ought  to  be  identical, 
nothing  can  be  less  alike  than  a  Eomanic  arch  and  the 
classic  archivault.  That  tower,  in  keeping  with  the 
forests,  made  a  stronger  neighbour  for  that  bridge,  wor- 
thy of  Versailles.  Imagine  Alain  Barte-Torte  giving 
his  arm  to  Louis  XIV.  The  juxtaposition  was  sinister. 
These  two  majesties  thus  mingled  made  up  a  whole 
which  had  something  inexpressibly  menacing  in  it. 

From  a  military  point  of  view,  the  bridge  (we  must 
insist  upon  this)  was  a  traitor  to  the  tower.  It  embel- 
lished, but  disarmed  ;  in  gaining  ornament,  the  fortress 
lost  strength.  The  bridge  put  it  on  a  level  with  the 
plateau.  Still  impregnable  on  the  side  toward  the 
forest,  it  became  vulnerable  toward  the  plain,  For- 
merly it  commanded  the  plateau  ;  now  it  was  commanded 
thereby.  An  enemy  installed  there  would  speedily  be- 
come master  of  the  bridge.  The  library  and  the  granary 
would  be  for  the  assailant  and  against  the  citadel.  A 
library  and  a  granary  resemble  each  other  in  the  fact 
that  both  books  and  straw  are  combustible.  For  an 
assailant  who  serves  himself  by  fire,  to  burn  Homer  or 
to  burn  a  bundle  of  straw,  provided  it  make  a  flame,  is 
all  the  same;  the  French  proved  this  to  the  Germans 
by  burning  the  library  at  Heidelburg,  and  the  Ger- 
mans proved  it  to  the  French  by  burning  the  library  of 
Strasburg.      This   bridge,    added  to  the    Tourgue,    was, 


294  NINETY-THREE. 

therefore,  strategically  an  error  ;  but  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  under  Colbert  and  Louvois,  the  Gauvain  princes 
no  more  considered  themselves  besiegable  than  did  the 
princes  of  Rohan  or  the  princes  of  La  Trémoille.  Still, 
the  builders  of  the  bridge  had  used  certain  precautions. 
In  the  first  place  they  had  foreseen  the  possibility  of  con- 
flagration :  below  the  three  casements  that  looked  down 
the  stream  they  had  fastened  transversely  to  cramp- 
irons,  which  could  still  be  seen  half  a  century  back,  a 
strong  ladder,  whose  length  equalled  the  height  of  the 
two  stories  of  the  bridge,  —  a  height  which  surpassed 
that  of  the  three  ordinary  stories.  Secondly,  they  had 
guarded  against  assault,  —  they  had  cut  off  the  bridge 
by  means  of  a  low,  heavy  iron  door.  This  door  was 
arched  ;  it  was  locked  by  a  great  key.  which  was  hidden 
in  a  place  known  to  the  master  alone,  and,  once  closed, 
this  door  could  defy  a  battering-ram  and  almost  brave 
a  cannon-ball.  It  was  necessary  to  cross  the  bridge  in 
order  to  reach  this  door,  and  to  pass  through  the  door 
in  order  to  enter  the  tower.  There  was  no  other 
entrance. 

5.    The,  Iron  Boor, 

The  second  story  of  the  castle  on  the  bridge  was  raised 
by  the  arches,  so  that  it  corresponded  with  the  second 
story  of  the  tower.  It  was  at  this  height,  for  greater 
security,  that  the  iron  door  had  been  placed.  The  iron 
door  opened  toward  the  library  on  the  bridge  side,  and 
toward  a  grand  vaulted  hall,  with  a  pillar  in  the  centre, 
on  the  side. to  the  tower. 

This  hall,  as  has  already  been  said,  was  the  second 
story  of  the  keep.  It  was  circular,  like  the  tower  ;  a 
long  loop-hole,  looking  out  on  the  fields,  lighted  it. 
The  rude  wall  was  naked,  and  nothing  hid  the  stones, 


A  PROVINCIAL  BASTILE.  295 

which  were  however  symmetrically  laid.  This  hall  was 
reached  by  a  winding  staircase  built  in  the  wall,- —  a 
very  simple  thing  when  walls  are  fifteen  feet  in  thick- 
ness. In  the  Middle  Ages  a  town  had  to  be  taken  street 
by  street  ;  a  street,  house  by  house  ;  a  house,  room  by 
room.  A  fortress  was  besieged  story  by  story.  In  this 
respect  La  Tourgue  was  very  skilfully  disposed,  and 
was  very  intractable  and  difficult.  A  spiral  staircase, 
at  first  very  steep,  led  from  cas  floor  to  the  other.  The 
doors  were  askew,  and  were  not  of  the  height  of  a  man. 
To  pass  through,  it  was  necessary  to  bow  the  head  ;  now, 
a  head  bowed  was  a  head  cut  off,  and  at  each  door  the 
besieged  awaited  the  besiegers. 

Below  the  circular  hall  with  the  pillar  were  two  simi- 
lar chambers,  which  made  the  first  and  the  ground  floor  ; 
and  above  were  three.  Upon  these  six  chambers,  placed 
one  upon  another,  the  tower  was  closed  by  a  lid  of  stone, 
which  was  the  platform,  and  which  could  only  be  reached 
by  a  narrow  watch-tower.  The  fifteen  feet  thickness  of 
wall  which  it  had  been  necessary  to  pierce  in  order  to 
place  the  iron  door,  and  in  the  middle  of  which  it  was 
set,  embedded  it  in  a  long  arch  ;  so  that  the  door  when 
closed  was,  both  on  the  side  toward  the  tower  and  on 
that  toward  the  bridge,  under  a  porch  six  or  seven  feet 
deep  ;  when  it  was  open,  these  two  porches  joined  and 
made  the  entrance-arch. 

In  the  thickness  of  the  wall  of  the  porch  toward  the 
bridge  opened  the  low  gate  of  Saint  Gille's  screw-stair- 
way, which  led  into  the  corridor  of  the  first  story  be- 
neath the  library.  This  offered  another  difficulty  to 
besiegers.  The  small  castle  of  the  bridge  showed,  on  the 
side  toward  the  plateau,  only  a  perpendicular  wall  ;  and 
the  bridge  was  cut  there.  A  draw-bridge  put  the  be- 
sieged in  communication  with  the  plateau  ;  and  this 
draw-bridge  (on  account  of    the  height  of  the  plateau, 


296  NINETY-THREE. 

never  lowered  except  at  an  inclined  plane)  allowed  access 
to  the  long  corridor,  called  the  guard-room.  Once  mas- 
ters of  this  corridor,  besiegers,  in  order  to  reach  the  iron 
door,  would  have  been  obliged  to  carry  by  main  force  the 
winding  staircase  which  led  to  the  second  story. 

6;    The  Library. 

As  for  the  library,  it  was  an  oblong  room,  the  width 
and  length  of  the  bridge,  with  a  single  door,  —  the  iron 
one.  A  false  leaf-door  hung  with  green  cloth,  which  it 
was  only  necessary  to  push,  masked  in  the  interior  the 
entrance-arch  of  the  tower.  The  library  wall  from  floor 
to  ceiling  was  filled  with  glazed  book-cases,  in  the  beau- 
tiful style  of  the  seventeenth-century  cabinet-work.  Six 
great  windows,  three  on  either  side,  one  above  each 
arch,  lighted  this  library.  Through  these  windows  the 
interior  could  be  seen  from  the  height  of  the  plateau. 
In  the  spaces  between  these  windows  stood  six  marble 
busts  on  pedestals  of  sculptured  oak,  —  Hermolaus,  of 
Byzantium  ;  Athenseus,  the  grammarian  of  Naucratis  ; 
Suidas  ;  Casaubon  ;  Clovis,  King  of  France  ;  and  his 
chancellor,  Anachalus,  who  for  that  matter  was  no  more 
chancellor  than  Clovis  was  king. 

There  were  books  of  various  sorts  in  this  library.  One 
has  remained  famous.  It  was  an  old  quarto  with  prints, 
having  for  title  "  Saint  Bartholomew,  "  in  great  letters  ; 
and  for  second  title,  "  Gospel  according  to  Saint  Bar- 
tholomew, preceded  by  a  dissertation  by  Pantœnus, 
Christian  philosopher,  as  to  whether  this  gospel  ought 
to  be  considered  apocryphal,  and  whether  Saint  Bar- 
tholomew was  the  same  as  Nathaniel.  "  This  book,  con- 
sidered a  unique  copy,  was  placed  on  a  reading-desk  in 
the  middle  of  the  library.  In  the  last  century,  people 
came  to  see  it  as  a  curiosity. 


A  PROVINCIAL  BASTILE.  297 

7.    The  Granary. 

As  for  the  granary,  which  took,  like  the  library,  the 
oblong  form  of  the  bridge,  it  was  simply  the  space  be- 
neath the  woodwork  of  the  roof.  It  was  a  great  room 
filled  with  straw  and  hay,  and  lighted  by  six  Mansard 
windows.  There  was  no  ornament  except  a  figure  of 
Saint  Bartholomew  carved  on  the  door,  with  this  line 
beneath, — 

"  Barnabus  sanctus  falcem  jubet  ire  per  herbam." 

Thus  it  was  a  lofty,  wide  tower  of  six  stories,  pierced 
here  and  there  with  loop-holes,  having  for  entrance  and 
egress  a  single  door  of  iron  leading  to  a  bridge-castle 
closed  by  a  draw-bridge  ;  behind  the  tower  a  forest  ;  in 
front  a  plateau  of  heath,  higher  than  the  bridge,  lower 
than  the  tower  ;  beneath  the  bridge  a  deep,  narrow  ra- 
vine full  of  brushwood,  —  a  torrent  in  winter,  a  brook  in 
spring-time,  a  stony  moat  in  summer. 

This  was  the  Tower  Gauvain,  called  La  Tourgue. 


CHAPTEK   X. 

THE   HOSTAGES. 

TULY  passed  ;  August  came.  A  blast,  fierce  and  he- 
**  roic,  swept  over  France.  Two  spectres  had  just 
passed  beyond  the  horizon, —  Marat  with  a  dagger  in  his 
heart,  Charlotte  Corday  headless.  Affairs  everywhere 
were  waxing  formidable. 

As  to  the  Vendée,  beaten  in  grand  strategic  schemes, 
she  took  refuge  in  little  ones,  —  more  redoubtable,  we 
have  already  said.  This  war  was  now  an  immense  fight,  ■ 
scattered  about  among  the  woods.  The  disasters  of  the 
large  army,  called  the  Catholic  and  Eoyal,  had  com- 
menced. The  army  from  Mayence  had  been  ordered 
into  the  Vendée.  Eight  thousand  Vendeans  had  fallen 
at  Ancenis  ;  they  had  been  repulsed  from  Nantes,  dis- 
lodged from  Montaigu,  expelled  from  Thouars,  chased 
from  Noirmoutier,  flung  headlong  out  of  Cholet,  Mor- 
tagne,  and  Saumur;  they  had  evacuated  Parthenay, 
abandoned  Clisson,  fallen  back  from  Châtillon,  lost  a 
flag  at  Saint-Hilaire  ;  they  had  been  beaten  at  Pornic, 
at  the  Sables,  at  Fontenay,  at  Doué,  at  the  Château 
d'Eau,  at  the  Ponts-de-Cé  ;  they  were  kept  in  check 
at  Luçon,  were  retreating  from  the  Chataigneraye, 
and  were  routed  at  the  Eoche-sur-Yon.  But  on  the 
one  hand  they  were  menacing  Rochelle  ;  and  on  the 
other  an  English  fleet  in  the  Guernsey  waters,  com- 
manded by  General  Craig,  and  bearing  several  English 
regiments  and  some  of  the  best  officers  of  the  French 


THE  HOSTAGES.  299 

navy,  only  waited  a  signal  from  the  Marquis  de  Lan- 
tenac  to  land.  This  landing  might  make  the  royalist 
revolt  again  victorious. 

Pitt  was  in  truth  a  State  malefactor.  Policy  has 
treasons  sure  as  an  assassin's  dagger.  Pitt  stabbed  our 
country  and  betrayed  his  own  :  to  dishonour  his  coun- 
try was  to  betray  it.  Under  him  and  through  him 
England  waged  a  Punic  war;  she  spied,  she  cheated, 
she  hid.  Poacher  and  forger,  she  stopped  at  nothing- 
she  descended  to  the  very  minutiae  of  hatred.  She 
monopolized  tallow,  which  cost  five  francs  a  pound.  An 
Englishman  was  taken  at  Lille  on  whom  was  found  a 
letter  from  Prigent,  Pitt's  agent  in  Vendée,  which  con- 
tained these  lines  :  — 

"  I  beg  you  to  spare  no  money.  We  hope  that  the  assas- 
sinations will  be  committed  with  prudence;  disguised  priests 
.and  women  are  the  persons  most  fit  for  this  duty.  Send 
sixty  thousand  francs  to  Rouen  and  fifty  thousand  to  Caen." 

This  letter  was  read  in  the  Convention  on  the  first  of 
August  by  Barère.  The  cruelties  of  Parrein,  and  later 
the  atrocities  of  Carrier,  replied  to  these  perfidies.  The 
republicans  of  Metz  and  the  republicans  of  the  South 
were  eager  to  march  against  the  rebels.  A  decree  or- 
dered the  formation  of  eighty  companies  of  pioneers  for 
burning  the  copses  and  thickets  of  the  Bocage.  It  was 
an  unheard-of  crisis.  The  war  only  ceased  on  one  foot- 
ing to  begin  on  another.  "  No  mercy  !  No  prisoners  !  " 
was  the  cry  of  both  parties.  The  history  of  that  time 
is  black  with  awful  shadows. 

During  this  month  of  August,  La  Tourgue  was  besieged. 
One  evening,  just  as  the  stars  were  rising  amid  the  calm 
twilight  of  the  dog-days,  when  not  a  leaf  stirred  in  the 
forest,  not  a  blade  of  grass  trembled  on  the  plain,  across 
the  stillness  of  the  night  swept  the  sound  of  a  horn 


300  NINETY-THREE. 

This  horn  was  blown  from  the  top  of  the  tower.  The 
peal  was  answered  by  the  voice  of  a  clarion  from  below. 
On  the  summit  of  the  tower  stood  an  armed  man  ;  at  the 
foot,  a  camp  spread  out  in  the  shadow. 

In  the  obscurity  about  the  Tower  Gauvain  could  be 
distinguished  a  moving  mass  of  black  shapes.  It  was 
a  bivouac.  A  few  fires  began  to  blaze  beneath  the  trees 
of  the  forest  and  among  the  heaths  of  the  plateau,  prick- 
ing the  darkness  here  and  there  with  luminous  points, 
as  if  the  earth  were  studding  itself  with  stars  at  the 
same  instant  as  the  sky  ;  but  they  were  the  sinister  stars 
of  war.  On  the  side  toward  the  plateau  the  bivouac 
stretched  out  to  the  plains,  and  on  the  forest  side  ex- 
tended into  the  thicket.      La  Tourgue  was  invested. 

The  outstretch  of  the  besiegers'  bivouac  indicated  a 
numerous  force.  The  camp  tightly  clasped  the  fortress, 
coming  close  up  to  the  rock  on  the  side  toward  the 
tower,   and  close  to  the  ravine  on  the  bridge  side. 

There  was  a  second  sound  of  the  horn,  followed  by 
another  peal  from  the  clarion.  This  time  the  horn 
questioned,  and  the  trumpet  replied.  It  was  the  de- 
mand of  the  tower  to  the  camp  :  "  Can  we  speak  to 
you  ?  "  The  clarion  was  the  answer  for  the  camp  : 
"  Yes.  " 

At  this  period  the  Vendeans,  not  being  considered 
belligerents  by  the  Convention,  and  a  decree  having  for- 
bidden the  exchange  of  flags  of  truce  with  "  the  bri- 
gands, "  the  armies  supplimented  as  they  could  the  means 
of  communication  which  the  law  of  nations  authorizes 
in  ordinary  war  and  interdicts  in  civil  strife.  Hence 
on  occasion  a  certain  understanding  between  the  peas- 
ant's horn  and  the  military  trumpet.  The  first  call  was 
only  to  attract  attention  ;  the  second  put  the  question, 
"  Will  you  listen  ?  "  If  on  this  second  summons  the 
clarion  kept  silent,   it  was  a  refusal  ;  if  the  clarion  re- 


THE   HOSTAGES.  301 

plied,  it  was  a  consent.  It  signified,  "  Truce  for  a  few 
moments.  " 

The  clarion  having  answered  the  second  appeal,  the 
man  on  the  top  of  the  tower  spoke,  and  these  words 
could  be  heard  :  — 

"  Men,  who  listen  to  me,  I  am  Gouge  le-Bruant,  sur- 
named  Brise-Bleu  because  I  have  exterminated  many 
of  yours;  surnamed  also  Imânus,  because  I  mean  to 
kill  still  more  than  I  have  already  done.  My  finger 
was  cut  off  by  a  blow  from  a  sabre  on  the  barrel  of  my 
gun  in  the  attack  at  Granville  ;  at  Laval  you  guillotined 
my  father,  my  mother,  and  my  sister  Jacqueline,  aged 
eighteen.  This  is  who  I  am.  I  speak  to  you  in  the 
name  of  my  lord  Marquis  Gauvain  de  Lantenac,  Vis- 
count de  Fontenay,  Breton  prince,  lord  of  the  Seven 
Forests,  —  my  master. 

"  Learn,  first,  that  Monseigneur  the  Marquis,  before 
shutting  himself  in  this  tower  where  you  hold  him 
blockaded,  distributed  the  command  among  six  chiefs, 
his  lieutenants.  He  gave  to  Delière  the  district  be- 
tween the  road  to  Brest  and  the  road  to  Ernée  ;  to 
Tréton,  the  district  between  Roe  and  Laval  ;  to  Jacquet, 
called  Taillefer,  the  border  of  the  Haut-Maine  ;  to 
Gaulier,  named  Grand  Pierre,  Château  Gontier;  to  Le- 
comte,  Craon  ;  to  Dubois  Guy,  Fougères  ;  and  to  De 
Rochambeau,  all  of  Mayenne.  So  the  taking  of  this 
fortress  will  not  end  matters  for  you  ;  and  even  if  Mon- 
seigneur the  Marquis  should  die,  the  Vendée  of  God  and 
the  king  will  still  live.  That  which  I  say  —  know  this 
—  is  to  warn  you.  Monseigneur  is  here  by  my  side  ;  I 
am  the  mouth  through  which  his  words  pass.  You 
who  are  besieging  us,  keep  silence.  This  is  what  it  is 
important  for  you  to  hear  :  — 

"  Do  not  forget  that  the  war  you  are  making  against 
us  is  without  justice.      We  are  men  inhabiting  our  own 


302  NINETY-THREE. 

country,  and  we  fight  honestly  ;  we  are  simple  and  pure, 
—  beneath  the  will  of  God,  as  -the  grass  is  beneath  the 
dew.  It  is  the  Kepublic  which  has  attacked  us;  she 
comes  to  trouble  us  in  our  fields  ;  she  has  burned  our 
houses,  our  harvests,  and  ruined  our  farms,  while  our 
women  and  children  were  forced  to  wander  with  naked 
feet  among  the  woods  when  the  winter  robin  was  still 
singing.  You  who  are  down  there  and  who  hear  me,  you 
have  enclosed  us  in  the  forest  and  surrounded  us  in  this 
tower;  you  have  killed  or  dispersed  those  who  joined  us  ; 
you  have  cannon  ;  you  have  added  to  your  troop  the 
garrisons  and  posts  of  Mortain,  of  Barenton,  of  Teilleul, 
of  Landivy,  of  Evran,  of  Tinteniac,  and  of  Vitré — by 
which  means  you  are  four  thousand  five  hundred  sol- 
diers who  attack  us  ;  and  we  —  we  are  nineteen  men 
who  defend  ourselves.  You  have  provisions  and  muni- 
tions. You  have  succeeded  in  mining  and  blowing  up 
a  corner  of  our  rock  and  a  bit  of  our  wall.  That  has 
made  a  gap  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  and  this  gap  is  a 
breach  by  which  you  can  enter,  although  it  is  not  open 
to  the  sky  ;  and  the  tower,  still  upright  and  strong, 
makes  an  arch  above  it.  Now,  you  are  preparing  the 
assault;  and  we,  — first,  Monseigneur  the  Marquis,  who 
is  Prince  of  Brittany,  and  secular  Prior  of  the  Abbey  of 
Saint  Marie  de  Lantenac,  where  a  daily  Mass  was  estab- 
lished by  Queen  Jeanne;  and,  next  to  him,  the  other 
defenders  of  the  tower,  who  are  the  Abbé  Turmeau, 
whose  military  name  is  Grand  Francœur;  my  comrade 
Guinoiseau,  who  is  captain  of  Camp  Vert;  my  comrade 
Chante-en-Hiver,  who  is  captain  of  Camp  Avoine  ;  my 
comrade  Musette,  who  is  captain  of  Camp  Fourmis  ;  and 
I,  peasant,  born  in  the  town  of  Daon,  through  which 
runs  the  brook  Moriandre,  —  we  all,  all  have  one  thing 
to  say  to  you.  Men,  who  are  at  the  bottom  of  this  tower, 
listen  ! 


THE  HOSTAGES.  303 

"  We  have  in  our  hands  three  prisoners,  who  are  three 
children.  These  children  were  adopted  by  one  of  your 
regiments,  and  they  belong  to  you.  We  offer  to  surren- 
der these  three  children  to  you,  on  one  condition  ;  it 
is  that  we  shall  depart  freely.  If  you  refuse,  listen  well. 
You  can  only  attack  us  in  one  of  two  ways,  —  by  the 
breach,  on  the  side  of  the  forest  ;  or  by  the  bridge,  on 
the  side  of  the  plateau.  The  building  on  the  bridge  has 
three  stories;  in  the  lower  story,  I,  Imânus  —  I  who 
speak  to  you  —  have  put  six  hogsheads  of  tar  and  a  hun- 
dred fascines  of  dried  heath  ;  in  the  top  story  there  is 
straw  ;  in  the  middle  story  there  are  books  and  papers. 
The  iron  door  which  communicates  between  the  bridge 
and  the  tower  is  closed,  and  Monseigneur  carries  the 
key';  I  have  myself  made  a  hole  under  the  door,  and 
through  this  hole  passes  a  sulphur  slow-match,  one  end 
of  which  is  in  the  tar  and  the  other  within  reach  of  my 
hand,  inside  the  tower.  I  can  fire  it  when  I  choose. 
If  you  refuse  o  let  us  go  out,  the  three  children  will  be 
placed  in  the  second  floor  of  the  bridge,  between  the 
story  where  the  sulphur-match  touches  the  tar  and  the 
floor  where  the  straw  is,  and  the  iron  dooi  will  be  shut 
on  them.  If  you  attack  by  the  bridge,  it  will  be  you 
who  set  the  building  on  fire  ;  if  you  attack  by  the  breach 
it  will  be  we  ;  if  you  attack  by  the  breach  and  the  bridge 
at  the  same  time,  the  fire  will  be  kindled  at  the  same 
instant  by  us  both,  and,  in  any  case,  the  three  children 
will  perish. 

"  Now,  accept  or  refuse.  If  you  accept,  we  come  out. 
If  you  refuse,  the  children  die.      I  have  spoken.  " 

The  man  speaking  from  the  top  of  the  tower  became 
silent.     A  voice  from  below  cried  :  "  We  refuse  !  w 

This  voice  was  abrupt  and  severe.  Another  voice, 
less  harsh,  though  firm,  added  :  "  We  give  you  four-and- 
twenty  hours  to  surrender  at  discretion.  "     There  was  a 


304  NINETY-THREE. 

silence,  then  the  same  voice  continued  :  "  To-morrow, 
at  this  hour,  if  you  have  not  surrendered,  we  commence 
the  assault.  " 

And  the  first  voice  resumed  :  "  And  then  no  quarter  !  " 
To  this  savage  voice  another  replied  from  the  top  of 
the  tower  !  Between  the  two  battlements  a  lofty  figure 
bent  forward,  and  in  the  starlight  the  stern  face  of  the 
Marquis  de  Lantenac  could  be  distinguished  ,  his  som- 
bre glance  shot  down  into  the  obscurity  and  seemed  to 
look  for  some  one .  and  he  cried  :  "  Hold,  it  is  thou, 
priest  !  " 

"  Yes,  traitor  ;  it  is  I,  "  replied  the  stern  voice  from 
below. 


CHAPTEK  XL 

TERKIBLE   AS    THE   ANTIQUE. 

'"p^HE  implacable  voice  was,  in  truth,  that  of  Cimour- 
-*■      dain  ;    the    younger  and   less    imperative  that  of 
Gauvain. 

The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  did  not  deceive  himself  in 
fancying  that  he  recognized  Cimourdain.  As  we  know, 
a  few  weeks  in  this  district,  made  bloody  by  civil  war, 
had  rendered  Cimourdain  famous  ;  there  was  no  notoriety 
more  darkly  sinister  than  his.  People  said  :  Marat  at 
Paris,  Châlier  at  Lyons,  Cimourdain  in  Vendée.  They 
stripped  the  Abbé  Cimourdain  of  all  the  respect  which 
he  had  formerly  commanded  ;  that  is  the  consequence 
of  a  priest's  unfrocking  himself.  Cimourdain  inspired 
horror.  The  severe  are  unfortunate  ;  those  who  note 
their  acts  condemn  them,  though  perhaps,  if  their  con- 
sciences could  be  seen,  they  would  stand  absolved.  A 
Lycurgus  misunderstood  appears  a  Tiberius.  Those  two 
men,  the  Marquis  de  Lantenac  and  the  Abbé  Cimourdain, 
were  equally  poised  in  the  balance  of  hatred.  The 
maledictions  of  the  royalists  against  Cimourdain  made 
a  counterpoise  to  the  execrations  of  the  republicans 
against  Lantenac.  Each  of  these  men  was  a  monster  to 
the  opposing  camp;  so  far  did  this  equality  go,  that 
while  Prieur,  of  the  Marne,  was  setting  a  price  on  the 
head  of  Lantenac,  Charette  at  Noirmoutiers  set  a  price 
on  the  head  of  Cimourdain.  Let  us  add,  these  two 
men  —  the  marquis  and  the  priest  —  were  up  to  a  cer- 


306  NINETY-THREE. 

tain  point  the  same  man.  The  bronze  mask  of  civil  war 
has  two  profiles,  —  the  one  turned  toward  the  past,  the 
other  set  toward  the  future  ;  but  both  equally  tragic. 
Lantenac  was  the  first  of  these  profiles,  Cimourdain  the 
second;  only,  the  bitter  sneer  of  Lantenac  was  full  of 
shadow  and  night,  and  on  the  fatal  brow  of  Cimourdain 
shone  a  gleam  from  the  morning. 

And  now  the  besieged  of  La  Tourgue  had  a  respite. 
Thanks  to  the  intervention  of  Gauvain,  a  sort  of  truce 
for  twenty-four  hours  had  been  agreed  upon. 

Imanus  had,  indeed,  been  well  informed.  Through 
the  requisitions  of  Cimourdain,  Gauvain  had  now  four 
thousand  five  hundred  men  under  his  command,  part 
national  guards,  part  troops  of  the  Line  ;  with  these  he 
had  surrounded  Lantenac  in  La  Tourgue,  and  was  able 
to  level  twelve  cannon  at  the  fortress,  —  a  masked  bat- 
tery of  six  pieces  on  the  edge  of  the  forest  toward  the 
tower,  and  an  open  battery  of  six  on  the  plateau,  toward 
the  bridge.  He  had  succeeded  in  springing  the  mine 
and  making  a  breach  at  the  foot  of  the  tower. 

Thus,  when  the  twenty-four  hours'  truce  was  ended, 
the  attack  would  begin  under  these  conditions  :  On  the 
plateau  and  in  the  forest  were  four  thousand  five  hun- 
dred men.  In  the  tower  nineteen  !  History  might  find 
the  names  of  those  besieged  nineteen  in  the  list  of 
outlaws.      We  shall  perhaps  encounter  them. 

As  commander  of  these  four  thousand  five  hundred 
men,  which  almost  made  an  army,  Cimourdain  had 
wished  Gauvain  to  allow  himself  to  be  made  adjutant- 
general.  Gauvain  refused,  saying,  "  When  Lantenac  is 
taken,  we  will  see.  As  yet,  I  have  merited  nothing.  " 
Those  great  commands,  with  low  regimental  rank,  were, 
for  that  matter,  a  custom  among  the  republicans. 
Bonaparte  was,  after  this,  at  the  same  time  colonel  of 
artillery  and  general-in-chief  of  the  army  of  Italy. 


TERRIBLE   AS   THE  ANTIQUE.  307 

The  Tower  Gauvain  had  a  strange  destiny,  —  a  Gau- 
vain attacked,  a  Gauvain  defended  it.  From  that  fact 
rose  a  certain  reserve  in  the  attack,  but  not  in  the  de- 
fence ;  for  Lantenac  was  a  man  who  spared  nothing. 
Moreover,  he  had  always  lived  at  Versailles,  and  had 
no  personal  associations  with  La  Tourgue,  which  he 
scarcely  knew  indeed.  He  had  sought  refuge  there 
because  he  had  no  other  asylum,  —  that  was  all  ;  he 
would  have  demolished  it  without  scruple.  Gauvain 
had  more  respect  for  the  place. 

The  weak  point  of  the  fortress  was  the  bridge  ;  but  in 
the  library,  which  was  on  the  bridge,  were  the  family 
archives.  If  the  assault  took  place  on  that  side,  the 
burning  of  the  bridge  would  be  inevitable.  To  burn  the 
archives  seemed  to  Gauvain  like  attacking  his  fore- 
fathers. La  Tourgue  was  the  ancestral  dwelling  of  the 
Gauvains  ;  in  this  tower  centred  all  their  fiefs  of  Brit- 
tany, just  as  all  the  fiefs  of  France  centred  in  the  tower 
of  the  Louvre.  The  home  associations  of  Gauvain  were 
there  ;  he  had  been  born  within  those  walls.  The  tor- 
tuous fatalities  of  life  forced  him,  a  man,  to  attack  this 
venerable  pile  which  had  sheltered  him  when  a  child. 
Could  he  be  guilty  of  the  impiety  of  reducing  this  dwel- 
ling to  ashes  ?  Perhaps  his  very  cradle  was  stored  in 
some  corner  of  the  granary  above  the  library.  Certain 
reflections  are  emotions.  Gauvain  felt  himself  moved 
in  the  presence  of  this  ancient  house  of  his  family. 
That  was  why  he  had  spared  the  bridge.  He  had  con- 
fined himself  to  making  any  sally  or  escape  impossible 
by  this  outlet,  and  had  guarded  the  bridge  by  a  battery, 
and  chosen  the  opposite  side  for  the  attack.  Hence  the 
mining  and  sapping  at  the  foot  of  the  tower. 

Cimourdain  had  allowed  him  to  take  his  own  way. 
He  reproached  himself  for  it  ;  his  stern  spirit  revolted 
against  all  these  Gothic  relics,  and  he  no  more  believed 


308  NINETY-THREE. 

in  pity  for  buildings  than  for  men.  Sparing  a  castle 
was  a  beginning  of  clemency.  Now,  clemency  was 
Gauvain's  weak  point.  Cimourdain,  as  we  have  seen, 
watched  him, —  drew  him  back  from  this,  in  his  eyes, 
fatal  weakness.  Still,  he  himself,  though  he  felt  a  sort 
of  rage  in  being  forced  to  admit  it  to  his  soul,  had  not 
revisited  La  Tourgue  without  a  secret  shock  ;  he  felt 
himself  softened  at  the  sight  of  that  study  where  were 
still  the  first  books  he  had  made  Gauvain  read.  He  had 
been  the  priest  of  the  neighbouring  village,  Parigné  ; 
he,  Cimourdain,  had  dwelt  in  the  attic  of  the  bridge- 
castle  ;  it  was  in  the  library  that  he  had  held  Gauvain 
between  his  knees  as  a  child,  and  taught  him  to  lisp  out 
the  alphabet  ;  it  was  within  those  four  old  walls  that  he 
had  seen  grow  this  well-beloved  pupil,  the  son  of  his 
soul,  increase  physically  and  strengthen  in  mind.  This 
library,  this  small  castle,  these  walls  full  of  his  blessings 
upon  the  child,  — was  he  about  to  overturn  and  burn 
them  ?  He  had  shown  them  mercy,  —  not  without  re- 
morse. He  had  allowed  Gauvain  to  open  the  siege  from 
the  opposite  point.  La  Tourgue  had  its  savage  side,  the 
tower,  and  its  civilized  side,  the  library.  Cimourdain 
had  allowed  Gauvain  to  batter  a  breach  in  the  savage 
side  alone. 

In  truth,  attacked  by  a  Gauvain,  defended  by  a  Gau- 
vain this  old  dwelling  returned  in  the  height  of  the 
French  Eevolution  to  feudal  customs.  Wars  between 
kinsmen  make  up  the  history  of  the  Middle  Ages  :  the 
Eteocles  and  Polynices  are  Gothic  as  well  as  Grecian, 
and  Hamlet  does  at  Elsinore  what  Orestes  did  in  Argos. 


CHAPTEE   Xïl 

POSSIBLE   ESCAPE. 

HHHE  whole  night  was  consumed  in  preparations  on 
X  the  one  side  and  the  other.  As  soon  as  the 
sombre  parley  which  we  have  just  heard  had  ended, 
Gauvain's  first  act  was  to  .call  his  lieutenant. 

Guéchamp,  of  whom  it  will  be  necessary  to  know  some- 
what, was  a  man  of  second-rate,  honest,  intrepid,  medi- 
ocre ;  a  better  soldier  than  leader  ;  rigorously  intelligent 
up  to  the  point  where  it  ceases  to  be  a  duty  to  under- 
stand ;  never  softened;  inaccessible  to  corruption  of  any 
sort,  —  whether  of  venality,  which  corrupts  the  con- 
science ;  or  of  pity,  which  corrupts  justice.  He  had  on 
soul  and  heart  those  two  shades,  —  discipline  and  the 
countersign,  as  a  horse  has  his  blinkers  on  both  eyes  ; 
and  he  walked  unflinchingly  in  the  space  thus  left  visible 
to  him.  His  way  was  straight,  but  narrow.  A  man  to 
be  depended  on  ;  rigid  in  command,  exact  in  obedience. 

Gauvain  spoke  rapidly  to  him.  "  Guéchamp,  a 
ladder."       ' 

"  Commandant,  we  have  none.  " 

"  One  must  be  had.  " 

"For  scaling  V 

"  No,  for   escape.  w 

Guéchamp  reflected  an  instant,  then  answered  :  "  1 
understand.  But  for  what  you  want,  it  must  be  very 
high.  " 

"  At  least  three  stories.  " 


310  NINETY-THREE. 

tt  Yes,  Commandant,  that  is  pretty  nearly  the  height.  n 
"  It  must  even  go  beyond  that,  for  we  must  be  certain 
of  success.  " 

"  Without  doubt.  " 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  you  have  no  ladder  ?  " 
"  Commandant,  you  did  not  think  best  to  besiege  La 
Tourgue  by  the  plateau;    you  contented  yourself  with 
blockading  it  on  this  side.     You  wished  to  attack,  not 
by  the  bridge,  but  the  tower;  so  we  only  busied  our- 
selves with  the  mine,  and  the  escalade  was  given  up. 
That  is  why  we  have  no  ladders.  " 
"  Have  one  made  immediately.  " 
"  A  ladder  three  stories  high  cannot  be  improvised.  " 
"  Have  several  short  ladders  joined  together.  " 
"  One  must  have  them  in  order  to  do  that.  " 
■  Find  them.  " 

"  There  are  none  to  be  found.  All  through  the  coun- 
try the  peasants  destroy  the  ladders,  just  as  they  break 
up  the  carts  and  cut  the  bridges.  " 

"  It  is  true  ;  they  try  to  paralyze  the  Eepublic.  " 
"  They  want  to  manage  so  that  we  can  neither  trans- 
port baggage,  cross  a  river,  nor  escalade  a  wall.  " 
"  Still,  I  must  have  a  ladder.  " 

"  I  just  remember,  Commandant,  at  Javené,  near 
Fougères,  there  is  a  large  carpenter's  shop.  They  might 
have  one  there.  " 

*  There  is  not  a  minute  to  lose.  " 
"  When  do  you  want  the  ladder  ?  " 
"  To-morrow  at  this  hour,  at  the  latest.  " 
"  I  will  send  an  express    full  speed  to  Javené.     He 
can  take  a  requisition.      There  is  a  post  of  cavalry  at 
Javené  which  will  furnish  an  escort.      The  ladder  can 
be  here  to-morrow  before  sunset.  " 

"  It  is  well  ;  that  will  answer,  "  said  Gauvain.  "  Act 
quickly;  go." 


POSSIBLE   ESCAPE.  311 

Ten  minutes  after,  Guéchamp  came  back  and  said  to 
Gauvain  :  "  Commandant,  the  express  has  started  for 
Javené.  " 

Gauvain  ascended  the  plateau  and  remained  for  a  long 
time  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  bridge-castle  across  the 
ravine.  The  gable  of  the  building,  without  other  means 
of  access  than  the  low  entrance  closed  by  the  raising  of 
the  draw-bridge,  faced  the  escarpment  of  the  ravine.  In 
order  to  reach  the  arches  of  the  bridge  from  the  plateau, 
it  was  necessary  to  descend  this  escarpment,  —  a  feat 
possible  to  accomplish  by  clinging  to  the  brushwood. 
But  once  in  the  moat,  the  assailants  would  be  exposed 
to  all  the  projectiles  that  might  rain  from  the  three 
stories. 

Gauvain  finished  by  convincing  himself  that  at  the 
point  which  the  siege  had  reached,  the  veritable  attack 
ought  to  be  by  the  breach  of  the  tower.  He  took  every 
measure  to  render  any  escape  out  of  the  question  ;  he 
increased  the  strictness  of  the  investment  ;  drew  closer 
the  ranks  of  his  battalions,  so  that  nothing  could  pass 
between.  Gauvain  and  Cimourdain  divided  the  invest- 
ment of  the  fortress  between  them.  Gauvain  reserved 
the  forest  side  for  himself,  and  gave  Cimourdain  the 
side  of  the  plateau.  It  was  agreed  that  while  Gauvain, 
seconded  by  Guéchamp,  conducted  the  assault  through 
the  mine,  Cimourdain  should  guard  the  bridge  and  ra- 
vine, with  every  match  of  the  open  battery  lighted. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

WHAT   THE   MARQUIS   WAS   DOING. 

WHILE  without  every  preparation  for  the  attach 
was  going  on,  within  everything  was  preparing 
for  resistance. 

It  is  not  without  a  real  analogy  that  a  tower  is  called 
a  "  douve  ;  "  and  sometimes  a  tower  is  breached  by  a 
mine,  as  a  cask  is  bored  by  an  auger.  The  wall  opens 
like  a  bunghole.  This  was  what  had  happened  at  La 
Tourgue.  The  great  blast  of  two  or  three  hundredweight 
of  powder  had  burst  the  mighty  wall  through  and 
through.  This  breach  started  from  the  foot  of  the  tower, 
traversed  the  wall  in  its  thickest  part,  and  made  a  sort 
of  shapeless  arch  in  the  ground-floor  of  the  fortress.  On 
the  outside  the  besiegers,  in  order  to  render  this  gap 
practicable  for  assault,  had  enlarged  and  finished  it  off 
by  cannon-shots. 

The  ground-floor  which  this  breach  penetrated  was  a 
great  round  hall,  entirely  empty,  with  a  central  pillar 
which  supported  the  keystone  of  the  vaulted  roof.  This 
chamber,  the  largest  in  the  whole  keep,  was  not  less 
than  forty  feet  in  diameter.  Each  story  of  the  tower 
was  composed  of  a  similar  room,  but  smaller,  with 
guards  to  the  embrasures  of  the  loop-holes.  The  ground- 
floor  chamber  had  neither  loop-holes  nor  air-holes  ;  there 
was  about  as  much  air  and  light  as  in  a  tomb.  The 
door  of  the  dungeon,  made  more  of  iron  than  wood,  was 
in  this  ground- floor  room.     Another  door  opened  upon 


WHAT  THE  MARQUIS   WAS   DOING.  313 

a  staircase  which  led  to  the  upper  chambers.  All  the 
staircases  were  contrived  in  the  interior  of  the  wall.  It 
was  into  this  lower  room  that  the  besiegers  could  arrive 
by  the  breach  they  had  made.  This  hall  taken,  there 
would  still  be  the  tower  to  take.  It  had  always  been 
impossible  to  breathe  in  that  hall  for  any  length  of 
time.  Nobody  ever  passed  twenty-four  hours  there 
without  suffocating.  Now,  thanks  to  the  breach,  one 
could  exist  there.  That  was  why  the  besieged  had  not 
closed  the  breach.  Besides,  of  what  service  would  it 
have  been  ?  The  cannon  would  have  re-opened  it.  They 
stuck  an  iron  torch-holder  into  the  wall,  and  put  a  torch 
in  it,  which  lighted  the  ground -floor. 

Now,  how  to  defend  themselves  ?  To  wall  up  the  hole 
would  be  easy,  but  useless.  A  retirade  would  be  of 
more  service.  A  retirade  is  an  intrenchment  with  a 
re-entering  angle,  — a  sort  of  rafted  barricade,  which 
admits  of  converging  the  fire  upon  the  assailants,  and 
while  leaving  the  breach  open  exteriorly  blocks  it  on 
the  inside.  Materials  were  not  lacking.  They  con- 
structed a  retirade  with  fissures  for  the  passage  of  the 
gun -barrels.  The  angle  was  supported  by  the  central 
pillar  ;  the  wings  touched  the  wall  on  either  side. 

The  marquis  directed  everything-  Inspirer,  com- 
mander, guide,  and  master,  —  a  terrible  spirit.  Lante- 
nac  belonged  to  that  race  of  warriors  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  who  at  eighty  years  saved  cities.  He  resem- 
bled that  Count  d'Alberg  who,  almost  a  centenarian, 
drove  the  King  of  Poland  from  Eiga.  "  Courage, 
friends,  "  said  the  marquis  ;  "  at  the  commencement  of 
this  century,  in  1713,  at  Bender,  Charles  XII. ,  shut  up 
in  a  house  with  three  hundred  Swedes,  held  his  own 
against  twenty  thousand  Turks.  " 

They  barricaded  the  two  lower  floors,  fortified  the 
chambers,  battlemented  the  alcoves,  supported  the  doors 


314  NINETY-THREE. 

with  joists  driven  in  by  blows  from  a  mallet  ;  and  thus 
formed  a  sort  of  buttress.  It  was  necessary  to  leave  free 
the  spiral  staircase  which  joined  the  different  floors,  for 
they  must  be  able  to  get  up  and  down,  and  to  stop  it 
against  the  besiegers  would  have  been  to  close  it  against 
themselves.  The  defence  of  any  place  has  thus  always 
some  weak  side. 

The  marquis,  indefatigable,  robust  as  a  young  man,  set 
an  example, —  lifted  beams,  carried  stones,  put  his  hand1 
to  the  work,  commanded,  aided,  fraternized,  laughed  with 
this  ferocious  clan,  but  remained  always  the  noble  still, 
—  haughty,  familiar,  elegant,  savage.  He  permitted  no 
reply  to  his  orders.  He  had  said  :  "  If  the  half  of  you 
should  revolt,  I  would  have  them  shot  by  the  other 
half,  and  defend  the  place  with  those  that  were  left  * 
Such  things  make  a  leader  adored. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

WHAT   IMÂNUS  WAS   DOING. 

WHILE  the  marquis  occupied  himself  with  the 
breach  and  the  tower,  Imânus  was  busy  with  the 
bridge.  At  the  beginning  of  the  siege,  the  escape- 
ladder  which  hung  transversely  below  the  windows  of 
the  second  story  had  been  removed  by  the  marquis's 
orders,  and  Imânus  had  put  it  in  the  library.  (It  was, 
perhaps,  the  loss  of  this  ladder  which  Gauvain  wished 
to  supply.)  The  windows  of  the  lower  floor,  called  the 
guard-room,  were  defended  by  a  triple  bracing  of  iron 
bars,  set  in  the  stone,  so  that  neither  ingress  nor  egress 
was  possible  by  them.  The  library  -windows  had  no 
bars,   but  they  were  very  high. 

Imânus  took  three  men  with  him,  who,  like  himself, 
possessed  capabilities  and  resolution  that  would  carry 
them  through  anything  :  these  men  were  Hoisnard, 
called  Branche  d'Or,  and  the  two  brothers  Pique-en- 
Bois.  Imânus,  carrying  a  dark  lantern,  opened  the 
iron  door  and  carefully  visited  the  three  stories  of  the 
bridge-castle.  Branche  d'Or  was  implacable  as  Imânus, 
having  had  a  brother  killed  by  the  Eepublicans.  Imâ- 
nus examined  the  upper  room  filled  with  hay  and  straw, 
and  the  ground-floor,  where  he  had  several  fire -pots 
added  to  the  tuns  of  tar  ;  he  placed  the  heap  of  fascines 
so  that  they  touched  the  casks,  and  assured  himself  of 
the  good  condition  of  the  sulphur-match,  of  which  one 
end  was  in  the  bridge  and  the  other  in  the  tower.     He 


316  NINETY-THREE. 

spread  over  the  floor,  under  the  tuns  and  fascines,  a 
pool  of  tar,  in  which  he  dipped  the  end  of  the  sulphur- 
match.  Then  he  brought  into  the  library,  between  the 
ground-floor  where  the  tar  was  and  the  garret  filled  with 
straw,  the  three  cribs  in  which  lay  Eené-Jean,  Gros- 
Alain,  and  Georgette,  buried  in  deep  sleep.  They  car- 
ried the  cradles  very  gently  in  order  not  to  awaken  the 
little  ones.  They  were  simple  village  cribs,  a  sort  of 
low  osier-basket,  which  stood  on  the  floor  so  that  a  child 
could  get  out  unaided.  Near  each  cradle  Imânus  placed 
a  porringer  of  soup,  with  a  wooden  spoon.  The  escape- 
ladder,  unhooked  from  its  cramping-irons,  had  been  set 
on  the  floor  against  the  wall  ;  Imânus  arranged  the  three 
cribs,  end  to  end,  in  front  of  the  ladder.  Then,  think- 
ing -  that  a  current  of  air  might  be  useful,  he  opened 
wide  the  six  windows  of  the  library  ;  the  summer  night 
was  warm  and  starlight.  He  sent  the  brothers  Pique- 
en-Bois  to  open  the  windows  of  the  upper  and  lower 
stories.  He  had  noticed  on  the  eastern  façade  of  the 
building  a  great  dried  old  ivy,  the  colour  of  tinder, 
which  covered  one  whole  side  of  the  bridge  from  top  to 
bottom,  and  framed  in  the  windows  of  the  three  stories. 
He  thought  this  ivy  might  be  left. 

Imânus  took  a  last  watchful  glance  at  everything; 
that  done,  the  four  men  left  the  châtelet  and  returned  to 
the  tower.  Imânus  double-locked  the  heavy  iron  door, 
studied  attentively  the  enormous  bolts,  and  nodded  his 
head  in  a  satisfied  way  at  the  sulphur-match  which 
passed  through  the  hole  he  had  drilled,  and  was  now  the 
sole  communication  between  the  tower  and  the  bridge. 
This  train  or  wick  started  from  the  round  chamber, 
passed  beneath  the  iron  door,  entered  under  the  arch, 
twisted  like  a  snake  down  the  spiral  staircase  leading  to 
the  lower  story  of  the  bridge,  crept  over  the  floor,  and 
ended  in  the  heap  of  dried  fascines  laid  on  the  pool  of  tar. 


WHAT  IMÂNUS   WAS   DOING.  317 

Imânus  had  calculated  that  it  would  take  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  for  this  wick,  when  lighted  in  the  interior  of 
the  tower,  to  set  fire  to  the  pool  of  tar  under  the  library. 
These  arrangements  all  concluded,  and  every  work  care- 
fully inspected,  he  carried  the  key  of  the  iron  door  back 
to  the  marquis,  who  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

It  was  important  that  every  movement  of  the  besiegers 
should  be  watched.  Imânus,  with  his  cowherd's  horn 
in  his  belt,  posted  himself  as  sentinel  on  the  watch- 
tower  of  the  platform  at  the  top  of  the  tower.  While 
keeping  a  constant  look-out,  one  eye  on  the  forest  and 
one  on  the  plateau,  he  worked  at  making  cartridges, 
having  near  him,  in  the  embrasure  of  the  watch-tower 
window,  a  powder-horn,  a  canvas-bag  full  of  good-sized 
balls,  and  some  old  newspapers,  which  he  tore  up  foi 
wadding. 

When  the  sun  rose  it  lighted  in  the  forest  eight  bat- 
talions, with  sabres  at  their  sides,  knapsacks  on  their 
backs,  and  guns  with  fixed  bayonets,  ready  for  the  as- 
sault ;  on  the  plateau,  a  battery  with  caissons,  car- 
tridges, and  boxes  of  case-shot;  within  the  fortress, 
nineteen  men  loading  several  guns,  muskets,  blunder- 
busses, and  pistols,  —  and  three  children  sleeping  iu 
their  cradles. 


BOOK    III. 

THE  MASSACEE  OF  SAINT  BARTHOLOMEW. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

THE  children  woke.  The  little  girl  was  the  first  to 
open  her  eyes.  The  waking  of  children  is  like 
the  unclosing  of  flowers,  —  a  perfume  seems  to  exhale 
from  those  fresh  young  souls. 

Georgette,  twenty  months  old,  the  youngest  of  the 
three  who  was  still  a  nursing  baby  in  the  month  of  May, 
raised  her  little  head,  sat  up  in  her  cradle,  looked  at  her 
feet,  and  began  to  chatter.  A  ray  of  the  morning  fell 
across  her  crib  ;  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  decide 
which  was  the  rosiest, —  Georgette's  foot  or  Aurora.  The 
other  two  still  slept;  the  slumber  of  boys  is  heavier. 
Georgette,  gay  and  happy,  began  to  chatter.  Eené- Jean's 
hair  was  brown,  Gros-Alain's  was  auburn,  Georgette's 
blond.  These  tints  would  change  later  in  life.  Eené- 
Jean  had  the  look  of  an  infant  Hercules  ;  he  slept  lying 
on  his  stomach,  with  his  two  fists  in  his  eyes.  Gros- 
Alain  had  thrust  his  legs  outside  his  little  bed. 

All  three  were  in  rags.  The  garments  given  them  by 
the  battalion  of  the  Bonnet  Eouge  had  worn  to  shreds  ; 
they  had  not  even  a  shirt  between  them.  The  two  boys 
were  almost  naked  ;  Georgette  was  muffled  in  a  rag 
which  had  once  been  a  petticoat,  but  was  now  little 


THE  MASSACRE  OF  SAINT  BARTHOLOMEW.         319 

more  than  a  jacket.  Who  had  taken  care  of  these  chil- 
dren ?  Impossible  to  say.  Not  a  mother.  These  sav- 
age peasant  fighters,  who  dragged  them  along  from  forest 
to  forest,  had  given  them  their  portion  of  soup.  That 
was  all.  The  little  ones  lived  as  they  could.  They 
had  everybody  for  master,  and  nobody  for  father.  But 
even  about  the  rags  of  childhood  there  hangs  a  halo. 
These  three  tiny  creatures  were  lovely. 

Georgette  prattled.  A  bird  sings,  a  child  prattles  ; 
but  it  is  the  same  hymn,  —  hymn  indistinct,  inarticu- 
late, but  full  of  profound  meaning.  The  child,  unlike 
the  bird,  has  the  sombre  destiny  of  humanity  before  it  : 
this  thought  saddens  any  man  who  listens  to  the  joyous 
song  of  a  child.  The  most  sublime  psalm  that  can  be 
heard  on  this  earth  is  the  lisping  of  a  human  soul  from 
the  lips  of  childhood.  This  confused  murmur  of  thought 
which  is  as  yet  only  instinct,  holds  a  strange  unreason- 
ing appeal  to  eternal  justice;  perchance  it  is  a  protest 
against  life  while  standing  on  its  threshold,  —  a  protest 
unconscious,  yet  heart-rending.  This  ignorance,  smil- 
ing at  infinity,  lays  upon  all  creation  the  burden  of  the 
destiny  which  shall  be  offered  to  this  feeble,  unarmed 
creature  ;  if  unhappiness  comes,  it  seems  like  a  betrayal 
of  confidence.  The  babble  of  an  infant  is  more  and  less 
than  speech  :  it  is  not  measured,  and  yet  it  is  a  song  ; 
not  syllables,  and  yet  a  language,  —  a  murmur  that  be- 
gan in  heaven,  and  will  not  finish  on  earth;  it  com- 
menced before  human  birth,  and  will  continue  in  the 
sphere  beyond  !  These  lispings  are  the  echo  of  what 
the  child  said  when  he  was  an  angel,  and  of  what  he 
will  say  when  he  enters  eternity.  The  cradle  has  a 
yesterday,  just  as  the  grave  has  a  to-morrow  :  this 
morrow  and  this  yesterday  join  their  double  mystery  in 
that  incomprehensible  warbling;  and  there  is  no  such 
proof  of  God,  of  eternity,  and  the  duality  of  destiny, 


320  NINETY-THREE. 

as  in  this  awe-inspiring  shadow  flung  across  that  flower- 
like soul. 

There  was  nothing  saddening  in  Georgette's  prattle  ;  her 
whole  lovely  face  was  a  smile.  Her  mouth  smiled,  her 
eyes  smiled,  the  dimples  in  her  cheeks  smiled.  There 
was  a  serene  acceptance  of  the  morning  in  this  smile. 
The  soul  has  faith  in  the  sunlight.  The  sky  was  blue, 
warm,  beautiful.  This  frail  creature,  who  knew  noth- 
ing, who  comprehended  nothing,  softly  cradled  in  a  dream 
which  was  not  thought,  felt  herself  in  safety  amidst  the 
loveliness  of  Nature,  —  these  sturdy  trees,  this  pure 
verdure,  this  landscape  fair  and  peaceful,  with  its  noises 
of  birds,  brooks,  insects,  leaves,  above  which  glowed  the 
brightness  of  the  sun. 

After  Georgette,  Eené-Jean,  the  eldest,  who  was  past 
four,  awoke.  He  sat  up,  jumped  in  a  manly  way  over 
the  side  of  his  cradle,  found  out  the  porringer,  consid- 
ered that  quite  natural,  and  so  sat  down  on  the  floor  and 
began  to  eat  his  soup. 

Georgette's  prattle  had  not  awakened  Gros-Alain,  but 
at  the  sound  of  the  spoon  in  the  porringer  he  turned  over 
with  a  start,  and  opened  his  eyes.  Gros-Alain  was  the 
one  three  years  old.  He  saw  his  bowl  ;  he  had  only 
to  stretch  out  his  arm  and  take  it.  So,  without  leaving 
his  bed,  he  followed  Eené-Jean  's  example,  seized  the 
spoon  in  his  little  fist,  and  began  to  eat,  holding  the 
bowl  on  his  knees. 

Georgette  did  not  hear  them  ;  the  modulations  of  her 
voice  seemed  measured  by  the  cradling  of  a  dream.  Her 
great  eyes,  gazing  upward,  were  divine.  No  matter  how 
dark  the  ceiling  in  the  vault  above  a  child's  head, 
heaven  is  reflected  in  its  eyes. 

When  Eené-Jean  had  finished  his  portion,  he  scraped 
the  bottom  of  the  bowl  with  his  spoon,  sighed,  and  said 
with  dignity,  "  I  have  eaten  my  soup.  " 


THE  MASSACRE   OF  SAINT  BARTHOLOMEW.        321 

This  roused  Georgette  from  her  reverie.  "  Thoup  !  " 
said  she.  Seeing  that  Bene -Jean  had  eaten,  and  that 
Gros-Alain  was  eating,  she  took  the  porringer  which 
was  placed  by  her  cradle,  and  began  to  eat  in  her  turn, 
—  not  without  carrying  the  spoon  to  her  ear  much 
oftener  than  to  her  mouth.  From  time  to  time  she 
renounced  civilization,  and  ate  with  her  fingers. 

When  Gros-Alain  had  scraped  the  bottom  of  his  por- 
ringer too,  he  leaped  out  of  bed  and  joined  his  brother. 


CHAPTER  IL 

OUDDENLY  from  without,  down  below,  on  the  side 
^  of  the  forest,  came  the  stern,  loud  ring  of  a  trum- 
pet. To  this  clarion-blast  a  horn  from  the  top  of  the 
tower  replied.  This  time  it  was  the  clarion  which 
called,  and  the  horn  which  made  answer.  The  clarion 
blew  a  second  summons,  and  the  horn  again  replied. 
Then  from  the  edge  of  the  forest  rose  a  voice,  distant 
but  clear,   which  cried  thus  :  — 

"  Brigands,  a  summons  !  If  at  sunset  you  have  not 
surrendered  at  discretion,  we  commence  the  attack.  " 

A  voice,  which  sounded  like  the  roar  of  a  wild  ani- 
mal, responded  from  the  summit  of  the  tower  :  "  Attack  !  " 

The  voice  from  below  resumed  :  "  A  cannon  will  be 
fired,  as  a  last  warning,  half  an  hour  before  the  as- 
sault, " 

The  voice  from  on  high  repeated  :  "  Attack  !  " 

These  voices  did  not  reach  the  children,  but  the  trum- 
pet and  the  horn  rose  loud  and  clear.  At  the  first  sound 
of  the  clarion,  Georgette  lifted  her  head,  and  stopped 
eating  ;  at  the  sound  of  the  horn,  she  dropped  her  spoon 
into  the  porringer;  at  the  second  blast  of  the  trumpet, 
she  lifted  the  little  forefinger  of  her  right  hand,  and, 
raising  and  depressing  it  in  turn,  marked  the  cadences 
of  the  flourish  which  prolonged  the  blast.  When  the 
trumpet  and  the  horn  ceased,  she  remained  with  her 
finger  pensively  lifted,  and  murmured,  in  a  half-voice, 
"  Muthic.  "  We  suppose  that  she  wished  to  say, 
u  Music.  " 


THE  MASSACRE  OF  SAINT  BARTHOLOMEW.         323 

The  two  elders,  Kené-Jean  and  Gros-Alain,  had  paid 
no  attention  to  the  trumpet  and  horn  ;  they  were  ab- 
sorbed by  something  else  :  a  wood-louse  was  just  making 
a  journey  across  the  library  floor. 

Gros-Alain  perceived  it,  and  cried  :  "  There  is  a  little 
creature  !  "  Kené-Jean  ran  up.  Gros-Alain  continued  : 
"  It  stings.  " 

"  Do  not  hurt  it,  "  said  Kené-Jean. 

And  both  remained  watching  the  traveller. 

Georgette  proceeded  to  finish  her  soup  ;  that  done,  she 
looked  about  for  her  brothers.  Kené-Jean  and  Gros- 
Alain  were  in  the  recess  of  one  of  the  windows,  gravely 
stooping  over  the  wood-louse,  —  their  foreheads  touch- 
ing, their  curls  mingling.  They  held  their  breath  in 
wonder,  and  examined  the  insect,  which  had  stopped, 
and  did  not  attempt  to  move,  though  not  appreciating 
the  admiration  it  received. 

Georgette  seeing  that  her  brothers  were  watching 
something,  must  needs  know  what  it  was.  It  was  not 
an  easy  matter  to  reach  them  ;  still,  she  undertook  the 
journey.  The  way  was  full  of  difficulties.  There  were 
things  scattered  over  the  floor.  There  were  footstools 
overturned,  heaps  of  old  papers,  packing-cases  forced 
open  and  empty,  trunks,  rubbish  of  all  sorts,  in  and  out 
of  which  it  was  necessary  to  sail,  —  a  whole  archipelago 
of  reefs  ;  but  Georgette  risked  it.  The  first  task  was  to 
get  out  of  her  crib  ;  then  she  entered  the  chain  of  reefs, 
twisted  herself  through  the  straits,  —  pushed  a  footstool 
aside,  crept  between  two  coffers,  got  over  a  heap  of 
papers,  climbing  up  one  side  and  rolling  down  the  other, 
regardless  of  the  exposure  to  her  poor  little  naked  legs, 
and  succeeded  in  reaching  what  a  sailor  would  have 
called  an  open  sea,  —  that  is,  a  sufficiently  wide  space  oi 
the  floor  which  was  not  littered  over,  and  where  there 
were  no  more  perils  ;  then  she  bounded  forward,  traversed 


324  NINETY-THEEE. 

this  space,  which  was  the  whole  width  of  the  room,  on 
all  fours  with  the  agility  of  a  kitten,  and  got  near  to 
the  window.  There  a  fresh  and  formidable  obstacle 
encountered  her  :  the  great  ladder  lying  along  the  wall 
reached  to  this  window,  the  end  of  it  passing  a  little 
beyond  the  corner  of  the  recess  ;  it  formed  between 
Georgette  and  her  brothers  a  sort  of  cape,  which  must 
be  crossed.  She  stopped  and  meditated;  her  internal 
monologue  ended,  she  came  to  a  decision.  She  reso- 
lutely twisted  her  rosy  fingers  about  one  of  the  rungs, 
which  were  vertical,  as  the  ladder  lay  along  its  side: 
she  tried  to  raise  herself  on  her  feet,  and  fell  back  ; 
she  began  again,  and  fell  a  second  time  ;  the  third 
effort  was  successful.  Then,  standing  up,  she  caught 
hold  of  the  rounds  in  succession,  and  walked  the  length 
of  the  ladder.  When  she  reached  the  extremity  there 
was  nothing  more  to  support  her;  she  tottered,  but 
seizing  in  her  two  hands  the  end  of  one  of  the  great 
poles,  which  held  the  rungs,  she  rose  again,  doubled 
the  promontory,  looked  at  Kené-Jean  and  Gros-Alain, 
and  began  to  laugh. 


CHAPTEE   III. 

Aï  that  instant,  Eené-Jean,  satisfied  with  the  result 
of  his  investigations  of  the  wood-louse,  raised  his 
head,   and  announced,   "  'T  is  a  she-creature.  " 

Georgette's  laughter  made  Eené-Jean  laugh,  and  Eené- 
Jean  's  laughter  made  Gros-Alain  laugh.  Georgette 
seated  herself  beside  her  brothers,  the  recess  forming  a 
sort  of  little  reception  chamber;  but  their  guest,  the 
wood-louse  had  disappeared.  He  had  taken  advantage 
of  Georgette's  laughter  to  hide  himself  in  a  crack  of 
the  floor. 

Other  incidents  followed  the  wood-louse's  visit. 
First,  a  flock  of  swallows  passed.  They  probably  had 
their  nests  under  the  edge  of  the  overhanging  roof. 
They  flew  close  to  the  window,  a  little  startled  by  the 
sight  of  the  children,  describing  great  circles  in  the  air, 
and  uttering  their  melodious  spring  song.  The  sound 
made  the  three  little  ones  look  up,  and  the  wood-louse 
was  forgotten. 

Georgette  pointed  her  finger  toward  the  swallows, 
and  cried,   "  Chicks  !  " 

Eené-Jean  reprimanded  her.  "  Miss,  you  must  not 
say  '  chicks  ;  '    they  are  birds.  " 

"  Birz,  "  repeated  Georgette. 

And  all  three  sat  and  watched  the  swallows. 

Then  a  bee  entered.  There  is  nothing  so  like  a  souj 
as  a  bee.  It  goes  from  flower  to  flower  as  a  soul  from 
star  to  star,  and  gathers  honey  as  the  soul  does  light. 
This  visitor  made  a  great  noise  as  it  came  in  ;  it  buzzed 
at  the  top  of  its  voice,  seeming  to  say.  "  I  have  come  !    I 


326  NINETY-THREE. 

have  first  been  to  see  the  roses,  now  I  come  to  see  the 
children.  What  is  going  on  here  ?"  A  bee  is  a  house- 
wife ;  its  song  is  a  grumble.  The  children  did  not  take 
their  eyes  off  the  new  comer  as  long  as  it  stayed  with 
them.  The  bee  explored  the  library,  rummaged  in  the 
corners,  fluttered  about  with  the  air  of  being  at  home  in  a 
hive,  and  wandered,  winged  and  melodious,  from  book- 
case to  book-case,  examining  the  titles  of  the  volumes 
through  the  glass  doors  as  if  it  had  an  intellect.  Its 
exploration  finished,   it  departed. 

"  She  is  going  to  her  own  house,  "  said  Eené-Jean. 

"  It  is  a  beast,  "  said  Gros-Alain. 

"  No,  "  replied  Eené-Jean,  "  it  is  a  fly.  " 

"  A  f'y,  "  said  Georgette. 

Thereupon  Gros-Alain,  who  had  just  found  on  the 
floor  a  cord  with  a  knot  in  one  end,  took  the  opposite 
extremity  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  made 
a  sort  of  wind-mill  of  the  string,  watching  its  whirls 
with  profound  attention. 

On  her  side,  Georgette,  having  turned  into  a  quadru- 
ped again,  and  recommenced  her  capricious  course  back 
and  forward  across  the  floor,  discovered  a  venerable 
tapestry-covered  armchair,  so  eaten  by  moths  that  the 
horse-hair  stuck  out  in  several  places.  She  stopped 
before  this  seat.  She  enlarged  the  holes,  and  dili- 
gently pulled  out  the  long  hairs.  Suddenly  she  lifted 
one  finger  ;  that  meant,   "  Listen  !  " 

The  two  brothers  turned  their  heads.  A  vague,  dis- 
tant noise  surged  up  from  without  :  it  was  probably  the 
attacking  camp  executing  some  strategic  manoeuvre  in 
the  forest;  horses  neighed,  drums  beat,  caissons  rolled, 
chains  clanked,  military  calls  and  responses,  —  a  confu- 
sion of  savage  sounds,  whose  mingling  formed  a  sort  of 
harmony.     The  children  listened  in  delight. 

"  It  is  the  good  God  who  does  that,"  said  Eené-Jean. 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

THE  noise  ceased.  Eené-Jean  remained  lost  in  a 
dream. 

How  do  ideas  vanish  and  reform  themselves  in  the 
brains  of  those  little  ones?  What  is  the  mysterious 
motive  of  those  memories  at  once  so  troubled  and  so 
brief  ?  There  was  in  that  sweet,  '  pensive  little  soul  a 
mingling  of  ideas  of  the  good  God,  of  prayer,  of  joined 
hands,  the  light  of  a  tender  smile  it  had  formerly  known 
and  knew  no  longer;  and  René- Jean  murmured,  half 
aloud,  "  Mamma  !  " 

"  Mamma  !  "  repeated  Gros -Alain. 

"  Mamma  !  *  cried  Georgette. 

Then  Eené-Jean  began  to  leap.  Seeing  this,  Gros- 
Alain  leaped  too.  Gross-Alain  repeated  every  movement 
and  gesture  of  his  brother.  Three  years  copies  four 
years  ;  but  twenty  months  keeps  its  independence. 

Georgette  remained  seated,  uttering  a  word  from  time 
to  time.  Georgette  could  not  yet  manage  sentences.  She 
was  a  thinker  ;  she  spoke  in  apothegms  ;  she  was  mono- 
syllabic. Still,  after  a  little,  example  proved  infectious 
and  she  ended  by  trying  to  imitate  her  brothers  ;  and 
these  three  little  pairs  of  naked  feet  began  to  dance,  to 
run,  to  totter  amidst  the  dust  of  the  old  polished  oak 
floor,  beneath  the  grave  aspects  of  the  marble  busts 
toward  which  Georgette  from  time  to  time  cast  an  un- 
quiet glance,  murmuring  "  Momommes.  "  Probably  in 
Georgette's    language    this    signified    something    which 


328  NINETY-THREE. 

looked  like  a  man,  but  yet  was  not  one,  —  perhaps  the  first 
glimmering  of  an  idea  in  regard  to  phantoms.  Georgette, 
oscillating  rather  than  walking,  followed  her  brothers, 
but  her  favourite  mode  of  locomotion  was  on  all  fours. 

Suddenly  Eené-Jean,  who  had  gone  near  a  window, 
lifted  his  head,  then  dropped  it,  and  hastened  to  hide 
himself  in  a  corner  of  the  wall  made  by  the  projecting 
window  recess.  He  had  just  caught  sight  of  a  man 
looking  at  him.  It  was  a  soldier,  from  the  encampment 
of  Blues  on  the  plateau,  who  profiting  by  the  truce,  and 
perhaps  infringing  it  a  little,  had  ventured  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  escarpment,  whence  the  interior  of  the 
library  was  visible.  Seeing  René-Jean  hide  himself, 
Gros-Alain  hid  too;  he  crouched  down  beside  his 
brother,  and  Georgette  hurried  to  hide  herself  behind 
them.  So  they  remained,  silent,  motionless,  Georgette 
pressing  her  finger  against  her  lips.  After  a  few  in- 
stants, Eené-Jean  ventured  to  thrust  out  his  head  ;  the 
soldier  was  there  stiiî.  Eené-Jean  retreated  quickly, 
and  the  three  little  ones  dared  not  even  breathe.  This 
suspense  lasted  for  some  time.  Finally  the  fear  began 
to  bore  Georgette  ;  she  gathered  courage  to  look  out. 
The  soldier  had  disappeared.  They  began  again  to  run 
about  and  play. 

Gros-Alain,  although  the  imitator  and  admirer  of 
Eené-Jean,  had  a  specialty, — that  of  discoveries.  His 
brother  and  sister  saw  him  suddenly  galloping  wildly 
about,  dragging  after  him  a  little  cart,  which  he  had 
unearthed  behind  some  box.  This  doll's  wagon  had 
lain  forgotten  for  years  among  the  dust,  living  amicably 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  printed  works  of  genius  and 
the  busts  of  sages.  It  was,  perhaps,  one  of  the  toys 
that  Gauvain  had  played  with  when  a  child.  Gros- 
Alain  had  made  a  whip  of  his  string,  and  cracked  it 
loudly  ;  he  was  very  proud.      Such  are  discoverers.     The 


THE  MASSACRE   OF   SAINT   BARTHOLOMEW.  329 

child  discovers  a  little  wagon;  the  man,  an  America  : 
the  spirit  of  adventure  is  the  same. 

But  it  was  necessary  to  share  the  godsend.  Bené- 
Jean  wished  to  harness  himself  to  the  carriage,  and 
Georgette  wished  to  ride  in  it.  She  succeeded  in  seat- 
ing herself.  Bené-Jean  was  the  horse.  Gros-Alain  was 
the  coachman.  But  the  coachman  did  not  understand 
nis  business  ;  the  horse  began  to  teach  him.  Bené-Jean 
shouted,   "  Say  '  Whoa  !  '  " 

"  Whoa  !  "  repeated  Gros-Alain. 

The  carrage  upset.  Georgette  rolled  out.  CMlcL 
angejs  can  shriek  ;  Georgette  did  so.  Then  she  had  a 
vague  wish  to  weep. 

"  Miss,  "  said  Bené-Jean,  "  you  are  too  big.  " 

"  Me  big  !  "  stammered  Georgette.  And  her  size  con- 
soled her  for  her  fall. 

The  cornice  of  entablature  outside  the  windows  was 
very  broad  ;  the  dust  blowing  from  the  plain  of  heath 
had  collected  there  ;  the  rains  had  hardened  it  into  soil, 
the  wind  had  brought  seeds  ;  a  blackberry-bush  had 
profited  by  the  shallow  bed  to  grow  up  there.  This 
bush  belpnged  to  the  species  called  fox  blackberry.  It 
was  August  now,  and  the  bush  was  covered  with  berries  ; 
a  branch  passed  in  by  the  window,  and  hung  down 
nearly  to  the  floor.  Gros-Alain,  after  having  discov- 
ered the  cord  and  the  wagon,  discovered  this  bramble. 
He  went  up  to  it.      He  gathered  a  berry  and  ate. 

"  I  am  hungry,  "  said  Bené-Jean. 

Georgette  arrived,  galloping  up  on  her  hands  and 
knees.  The  three  between  them  stripped  the  branch, 
and  ate  all  the  berries.  They  stained  their  faces  and 
hands  with  the  purple  juice  till  the  trio  of  little  seraphs 
was  changed  into  a  knot  of  little  fauns,  which  would 
have  shocked  Dante  and  charmed  Virgil.  They  shrieked 
with  laughter.      From  time  to  time  the  thorns  pricked 


330  NINETY-THREE. 

their  fingers.  There  is  always  a  pain  attached  to  every 
pleasure.  Georgette  held  out  her  finger  to  Bené-Jean, 
on  which  showed  a  tiny  drop  of  blood,  and  pointing  to 
the  bush,  said,  "  P'icks.  " 

Gros-Alain,  who  had  suffered  also,  looked  suspi- 
ciously at  the  branch  and  said  :     "  It  is  a  beast.  " 

"  No,  "  replied  Eené-Jean  ;  "  it  is  a  stick.  " 

"  Then  a  stick  is  wicked,  "  retorted  Gros-Alain. 

Again  Georgette,  though  she  had  a  mind  to  cry,  burst 
out  laughing. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  the  mean  time  René-Jean,  perhaps  jealous  of  the 
discoveries  made  by  his  younger  brother,  had  con- 
ceived a  grand  project.  For  some  minutes  past,  while 
busy  eating  the  berries  and  pricking  his  fingers,  his  eyes 
turned  frequently  toward  the  chorister's  desk  mounted 
on  a  pivot  and  isolated  like  a  monument  in  the  centre 
of  the  library.  On  this  desk  lay  the  celebrated  volume 
of  "  Saint  Bartholomew.  "  It  was  in  truth  a  magnificent 
and  priceless  folio.  It  had  been  published  at  Cologne 
by  the  famous  publisher  of  the  edition  of  the  Bible  of 
1682,  Blœuw,  or,  in  Latin,  Cœsius.  It  was  printed, 
not  on  Dutch  paper,  but  upon  that  beautiful  Arabian 
paper  so  much  admired  by  Edrisi,  which  was  made  of 
silk  and  cotton  and  never  grew  yellow  ;  the  binding  was 
of  gilt  leather,  and  the  clasps  of  silver  ;  the  boards  were 
of  that  parchment  which  the  parchment  sellers  of  Paris 
took  an  oath  to  buy  at  the  Hall  Saint  Mathurin,  *  and 
nowhere  else.  "  The  volume  was  full  of  engravings  on 
wood  and  copper,  with  geographical  maps  of  many  coun- 
tries ;  it  had  on  a  fly-leaf  a  protest  of  the  printers,  paper- 
makers,  and  publishers  against  the  edict  of  1635,  which 
set  a  tax  on  "  leather,  fur,  cloven-footed  animals,  sea-fish, 
and  paper  ;  "  and  at  the  back  of  the  frontispiece  could  be 
read  a  dedication  to  the  Gryphes,  who  were  to  Lyons 
what  the  Elzevirs  were  to  Amsterdam.  These  combina- 
tions resulted  in  a  famous  copy  almost  as  rare  as  the 
"  Apostol  "  at  Moscow. 


332  NINETY-THREE. 

The  book  was  beautiful  ;  it  was  for  that  reason  René- 
Jean  looked  at  it,  too  long  perhaps.  The  volume 
chanced  to  be  open  at  a  great  print  representing  Saint 
Bartholomew  carrying  his  skin  over  his  arm.  He  could 
see  this  print  where  he  stood.  When  the  berries  were 
all  eaten,  Eené-Jean  watched  it  with  a  feverish  longing, 
and  Georgette,  following  the  direction  of  her  brother's 
eyes,  perceived  the  engraving,  and  said"  Pic 'sure.  " 

This  exclamation  seemed  to  decide  René-Jean.  Then, 
to  the  utter  stupefaction  of  Gros-Alain,  an  extraordinary 
thing  happened.  A  great  oaken  chair  stood  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  library  ;  René- Jean  marched  toward  it,  seized 
and  dragged  it  unaided  up  to  the  desk.  Then  he 
mounted  thereon  and  laid  his  two  hands  on  the  volume. 
Arrived  at  this  summit,  he  felt  a  necessity  for  being 
magnificently  generous  ;  he  took  hold  of  the  upper  end 
of  the  "  pic 'sure  "  and  tore  it  carefully  down.  The  tear 
went  diagonally  over  the  saint,  but  that  was  not  the 
fault  of  René- Jean  ;  it  left  in  the  book  the  left  side,  one 
eye,  and  a  bit  of  the  halo  of  the  old  apocryphal  evange- 
list. He  offered  Georgette  the  other  half  of  the  saint 
and  all  his  skin.  Georgette  took  the  saint,  and  ob- 
served, "  Momommes.  " 

"  And  I  !  "  cried  Gros-Alain. 

The  tearing  of  the  first  page  of  a  book  by  children  is 
like  the  shedding  of  the  first  drop  of  blood  by  men,  — 
it  decides  the  carnage.  René-Jean  turned  the  leaf  ;  next 
to  the  saint  came  the  Commentator  Pantœnus.  René- 
Jean  bestowed  Pantœnus  upon  Gros-Alain.  Meanwhile 
Georgette  tore  her  large  piece  into  two  little  morsels, 
then  the  two  into  four,  and  continued  her  work  till  his- 
tory might  have  noted  that  Saint  Bartholomew,  after 
having  been  flayed  in  Armenia,  was  torn  limb  from 
limb  in  Brittany. 


CHAPTEE  VI 

THE  quartering  completed,  Georgette  held  out  heï 
hand  to  Bene- Jean,  and  said,  "  More  I  "  After 
the  saint  and  the  commentator  followed  portraits  of 
frowning  glossarists.  The  first  in  the  procession  was 
Gavantus  :  Eené-Jean  tore  him  out  and  put  Gavantus 
into  Georgette's  hand.  The  whole  group  of  Saint  Bar- 
tholomew's commentators  met  the  same  fate  in  turn. 

There  is  a  sense  of  superiority  in  giving.  Kené-Jean 
kept  nothing  for  himself.  Gros-Alain  and  Georgette 
were  watching  him,  —  he  was  satisfied  with  that  ;  the 
admiration  of  his  public  was  reward  enough.  Eené- 
Jean,  inexhaustible  in  his  magnanimity,  offered  Fabricio 
Pignatelli  to  Gros-Alain,  and  Father  Stilting  to  Geor- 
gette ;  he  followed  these  by  the  bestowal  of  Alphonse 
Tostat  on  Gros-Alain,  and  Cornelius  a  Lapide  upon 
Georgette.  Then  Gros-Alain  received  Henry  Hammond, 
and  Georgette  received  Father  Eoberti,  together  with  a 
view  of  the  city  of  Douai,  where  that  father  was  born, 
in  1619.  Gros- Alain  received  the  protest  of  the  sta- 
tioners, and  Georgette  obtained  the  dedication  to  the 
Gryphes.  Then  it  was  the  turn  of  the  maps.  Eené- 
Jean  proceeded  to  distribute  them.  He  gave  Gros- 
Alain  Ethiopia,  and  Lycaonia  fell  to  Georgette.  This 
done  he  tumbled  the  book  upon  the  floor. 

This  was  a  terrible  moment.  With  mingled  ecstasy 
and  fright  Gros-Alain  and  Georgette  saw  Eené-Jean 
wrinkle  his  brows,  stiffen  his  legs,  clinch  his  fists,  and 


334  NINETY-THREE. 

push  the  massive  folio  off  the  stand.  The  majestic  old 
tome  was  fairly  a  tragic  spectacle.  Pushed  from  its 
resting-place,  it  hung  for  an  instant  on  the  edge  of  the 
desk,  —  seemed  to  hesitate,  trying  to  balance  itself,  — 
then  crashed  down,  and  broken,  crumpled,  torn,  ripped 
from  its  binding,  its  clasps  fractured,  flattened  itself 
miserably  upon  the  floor.  Fortunately  it  did  not  fall 
on  the  children  ;  they  were  only  bewildered,  not  crushed. 
Victories  do  not  always  finish  so  well.  Like  all  glories 
it  made  a  great  noise,   and  left  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Having  flung  the  book  on  the  ground,  René-Jean  de- 
scended from  the  chair.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence 
and  fright;  victory  has  its  terrors.  The  three  children 
seized  one  another's  hands  and  stood  at  a  distance,  look- 
ing toward  the  vast  dismantled  tome.  But  after  a  brief 
reverie  Gros-Alain  approached  it  quickly  and  gave  it  a 
kick.  Nothing  more  was  needed.  The  appetite  for 
destruction  grows  rapidly.  Eené-Jean  kicked  it,  Geor- 
gette dealt  a  blow  with  her  little  foot  which  overset  her, 
though  she  fell  in  a  sitting  position,  by  which  she 
profited  to  fling  herself  on  Saint  Bartholomew.  The 
spell  was  completely  broken.  René-Jean  pounced  upon 
the  saint,  Gros-Alain  dashed  upon  him,  and  joyous,  dis- 
tracted, triumphant,  pitiless,  tearing  the  prints,  slash- 
ing the  leaves,  pulling  out  the  markers,  scratching  the 
binding,  ungluing  the  gilded  leather,  breaking  off  the 
nails  from  the  silver  corners,  ruining  the  parchment, 
making  mince-meat  of  the  august  text,  working  with 
feet,  hands,  nails,  teeth,  —  rosy,  laughing,  ferocious,  the 
three  angels  of  J3jey  demolished  the  defenceless  evange- 
list. They  annihilated  Armenia,  Judea,  Benevento, 
where  rest  the  relics  of  the  saipJ-  ;  Nathaniel,  who  is 
perhaps  the  same  as  Bartholomew  ;  the  Pope  Gelasius, 
who  declared  the  Gospel  of  Saini  Bartholomew  (Na- 
thaniel) apocryphal  ;  all  the  portraits,  all  th**  "maps  ;  and 


THE   MASSACRE   OF   SAINT  BARTHOLOMEW.  335 

the  inexorable  massacre  of  the  old  book  absorbed  them 
so  entirely  that  a  mouse  ran  past  without  their  perceiv- 
ing it.  It  was  an  extermination.  To  tear  in  pieces 
history,  legend,  science,  miracles,  whether  true  or  false, 
the  Latin  of  the  Church,  superstitions,  fanaticisms,  mys- 
teries,—  to  rend  a  whole  religion  from  top  to  bottom 
would  be  a  work  for  three  giants  ;  but  the  three  children 
completed  it.  Hours  passed  in  the  labour,  but  they 
reached  the  end  ;  nothing  remained  of  Saint  Bartholomew. 

When  they  had  finished,  when  the  last  page  was 
loosened,  the  last  print  lying  on  the  ground,  when 
nothing  was  left  of  the  book  but  the  edges  of  the  text 
and  pictures  in  the  skeleton  of  the  binding,  Bene- Jean 
sprang  to  his  feet,  looked  at  the  floor  covered  with  scat- 
tered leaves,  and  clapped  his  hands.  Gros-Alain  clapped 
his  hands  likewise.  Georgette  took  one  of  the  pages  in 
her  hand,  rose,  leaned  against  the  window-sill,  which 
was  on  a  level  with  her  chin,  and  commenced  to  tear 
the  great  leaf  into  tiny  bits,  and  scatter  them  out  of  the 
casement.  Seeing  this,  Eené-Jean  and  Gros-Alain  be- 
gan the  same  work.  They  picked  up  and  tore  into  small 
bits,  picked  up  again  and  tore,  and  flung  the  pieces  out 
of  the  window,  as  Georgette  had  done,  page  by  page. 
Eent  by  these  little  desperate  fingers,  the  entire  ancient 
volume  almost  flew  down  the  wind. 

Georgette  thoughtfully  watched  these  swarms  of  little 
white  papers  dispersed  by  the  breeze,  and  said  :  "  Butter- 
f'ies!" 

So  the  massacre  ended  with  these  tiny  ghosts  vanish 
ing  in  the  blue  of  heaven! 


CHAPTEE  VIL 

THUS  was  Saint  Bartholomew  for  the  second  time 
made  a  martyr,  —  he  who  had  been  the  first  time 
sacrificed  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  49. 

Then  the  evening  came  on  ;  the  heat  increased  ;  there 
was  sleep  in  the  air.  Georgette's  eyes  began  to  close: 
René- Jean  went  to  his  crib,  pulled  outkthe  straw  sack 
which  served  instead  of  a  mattress,  dragged  it  to  the 
window,  stretched  himself  thereon,  and  said,  "  Let  us 
go  to  bed.  "  Gros-Alain  laid  his  head  against  Bené- 
Jean,  Georgette  placed  hers  on  Gros- Alain,  and  the  three 
malefactors  fell  asleep. 

The  warm  breeze  entered  by  the  open  windows,  the 
perfume  of  wild  flowers  from  the  ravines  and  hills  min- 
gled with  the  breath  of  evening.  Nature  was  calm  and 
pitiful  ;  everything  beamed,  was  at  peace,  full  of  love  ; 
the  sun  gave  its  caress,  which  is  light,  to  all  creation  ; 
everywhere  could  be  heard  and  felt  that  harmony  which 
is  thrown  off  from  the  infinite  sweetness  of  inanimate 
things.  There  is  a  motherhood  in  the  infinite,  —  she 
perfects  her  grandeur  by  her  goodness  ;  creation  is  a 
miracle  in  full  bloom.  It  seemed  as  if  one  could  feel 
some  invisible  Being  take  those  mysterious  precautions 
which  in  the  formidable  conflict  of  opposing  elements  of 
life  protect  the  weak  against  the  strong;  at  the  same 
time  there  was  beauty  everywhere,  —  the  splendour 
equalled  the  gentleness.  The  landscape  that  seemed 
asleep  had  those  lovely  hazy  effects  which  the  changings 


THE  MASSACRE   OF   SAINT  BARTHOLOMEW,  337 

of  light  and  shadow  produce  on  the  fields  and  rivers, 
the  mists  mounted  toward  the  clouds  like  reveries 
changing  into  dreams  ;  the  birds  circled  noisily  about 
La  Tourgue  ;  the  swalluws  looksc!  in  through  the  win- 
dows, as  if  they  wished  to  be  certain  that  the  children 
slept  well. 

They  were  prettily  grouped  upon  one  another,  motion- 
less, half-naked,  posed  like  little  Cupids  ;  they  were 
adorable  and  pure  ;  the  united  ages  of  the  three  did  not 
make  nine  years.  *  They  were  dreaming  dreams  of  para- 
dise, which  were  reflected  on  their  lips  in  vague  smiles. 
Perchance  God  whispered  in  their  ears.  They  were  of 
those  whom  all  human  languages  call  the  weak  and 
blessed  ;  they  were  made  majestic  by  innocence.  All 
was  silence  about  them,  as  if  the  breath  from  their  tender 
bosoms  was  the  care  of  the  universe,  and  listened  to  by 
the  whole  creation  ;  the  leaves  did  not  rustle,  the  grass 
did  not  stir.  It  seemed  as  if  the  vast  starry  world  held 
its  breath  for  fear  of  disturbing  these  three  humble  an- 
gelic sleepers,  and  nothing  could  have  been  so  sublime 
as  that  reverent  respect  of  Nature  in  presence  of  this 
littleness. 

The  sun  was  near  its  setting  ;  it  almost  touched  the 
horizon.  Suddenly,  across  this  profound  peace  burst  a 
lightning-like  glare,  which  came  from  the  forest  ;  then 
a  savage  noise.  A  cannon  had  just  been  fired.  The 
echoes  seized  upon  this  thundering,  and  repeated  it  with 
an  infernal  din;  the  prolonged  growling  from  hill  to 
hill  was  terrible.  It  woke  Georgette.  She  raised  her 
head  slightly,  lifted  her  little  finger,  and  said  :  "  Boom  !  " 
The  noise  died  away  ;  the  silence  swept  back  ;  Georgette 
laid  her  head  on  Gros-Alain,  and  fell  asleep  once  more. 


BOOK    VL 

THE    MOTHEE. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

DEATH   PASSES. 

WHEN"  this  evening  came,  the  mother  whom  we 
saw  wandering  almost  at  random  had  walked 
the  whole  day.  This  was  indeed  the  history  of  all  her 
days, —  to  go  straight  before  her  without  stopping.  For 
her  slumbers  of  exhaustion,  given  in  to  in  any  corner 
that  chanced  to  be  nearest,  were  no  more  rest  than  the 
morsels  she  ate  here  and  there  (as  the  birds  pick  up 
crumbs)  were  nourishment.  She  ate  and  slept  just  what 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  keep  her  from  falling  down 
dead.  She  had  passed  the  previous  night  in  an  empty 
barn  ;  civil  wars  leave  many  such.  She  had  found  in  a 
bare  field  four  walls,  an  open  door,  a  little  straw  be- 
neath the  ruins  of  a  roof;  and  she  had  slept  on  the 
straw  under  the  rafters,  feeling  the  rats  slip  about  be- 
neath, and  watching  the  stars  rise  through  the  gaping 
wreck  above.  She  slept  for  several  hours  ;  then  she 
woke  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  set  out  again  in 
order  to  get  over  as  much  road  as  possible  before  the 
great  heat  of  the  day  should  set  in.  For  any  one  who 
travels  on  foot  in  the  summer,  midnight  is  more  fitting 
than  noon. 


DEATH  PASSES.  339 

She  had  followed  to  the  best  of  her  ability  the  brief 
itinerary  the  peasant  of  Yautortes  had  marked  out  for 
her:  she  had  gone  as  straight  as  possible  toward  the 
west.  Had  there  been  any  one  near,  he  might  have 
heard  her  ceaselessly  murmur,  half  aloud,  "  La  Tourgue.  " 
Except  the  names  of  her  children,  this  word  was  all  she 
knew.  As  she  walked,  she  dreamed.  She  thought  of 
the  adventures  with  which  she  had  met;  she  thought 
of  all  she  had  suffered,  all  which  she  had  accepted,  — 
of  the  meetings,  the  indignities,  the  terms  offered;  the 
bargains  proposed  and  submitted  to,  —  now  for  a  shelter, 
now  for  a  morsel  of  bread,  sometimes  simply  to  obtain 
from  some  one  information  as  to  her  route.  A  wretched 
woman  is  more  unfortunate  than  a  wretched  man,  for 
she  may  be  a  prey  to  lust.  Frightful  wandering  march  ! 
But  nothing  mattered  to  her,  provided  she  could  discover 
her  children. 

Her  first  encounter  this  day  had  been  a  village.  The 
dawn  was  beginning  to  break  ;  everything  was  still 
tinged  with  the  gloom  of  night.  A  few  doors  were  al- 
ready half  open  in  the  principal  streets,  and  curious 
faces  looked  out  of  the  windows  ;  the  inhabitants  were 
agitated  like  a  disturbed  bee-hive  :  this  arose  from  a 
noise  of  wheels  and  chains  which  had  been  heard.  On 
the  church  square  a  frightened  group  with  their  heads 
raised,  watched  something  descend  a  high  hill  along  the 
road  toward  the  village.  It  was  a  four-wheeled  wagon 
drawn  by  five  horses,  harnessed  with  chains.  On  this 
wagon  could  be  distinguished  a  heap  like  a  pile  of  long 
joists,  in  the  middle  of  which  lay  some  shapeless  object, 
covered  with  a  large  canvas  resembling  a  pall.  Ten 
horsemen  rode  in  front  of  the  wagon,  and  ten  others  be- 
hind; these  men  wore  three-cornered  hats,  and  above 
their  shoulders  rose  what  seemed  to  be  the  points  of 
naked  sabres.     This  whole  cortege,  advancing  slowly 


340  NINETY-THKEE. 

showed  black  and  distinct  against  the  horizon ,  the 
wagon  looked  black,  the  harness  looked  black,  the  horse- 
men looked  black.  Behind  them  gleamed  the  pallor  of 
the  morning.  They  entered  the  village  and  moved 
toward  the  square.  Daylight  had  come  on  while  the 
wagon  was  going  down  the  hill,  and  the  cortege  could 
be  distinctly  seen  ;  it  was  like  watching  a  procession  of 
shadows,  for  not  a  man  in  the  party  uttered  a  word. 
The  horsemen  were  gendarmes  ;  they  did  in  truth  carry 
drawn  sabres.      The  cover  was  black. 

The  wretched  wandering  mother  entered  the  village 
from  the  opposite  side,  and  approached  the  mob  of  peas- 
ants at  the  moment  the  gendarmes  and  the  wagon  reached 
the  square.  Among  the  crowd,  voices  whispered  ques- 
tions and  replies  :  — 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  guillotine.  " 

"  Whence  does  it  come  ?  " 

"  From  Fougères.  " 

"  Where  is  it  going  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  They  say  to  a  castle  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Parigné.  " 

"  Parigné.  " 

"  Let  it  go  where  it  likes,  provided  it  does  not  stop 
here.  " 

This  great  cart,  with  its  lading  hidden  by  a  sort  of 
shroud  ;  this  team,  these  gendarmes,  the  noise  of  the 
chains,  the  silence  of  the  men,  the  grey  dawn, — all 
made  up  a  whole  that  was  spectral.  The  group  trav- 
ersed the  square  and  passed  out  of  the  village.  The 
hamlet  lay  in  a  hollow  between  two  hills  :  at  the  end 
of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  peasants,  who  had  stood 
still  as  if  petrified,  saw  the  lugubrious  procession  reap- 
pear on  the  summit  of  the  western  hill  ;  the  heavy 
wheels  jolted  along  the  ruts,  the  chains  clanked  in  the 


DEATH  PASSES.  341 

morning  wind,  the  sabres  shone   in  the  rising  sun, — 
then  the  road  turned  off,  and  the  cortege  disappeared. 

It  was  the  very  moment  when  Georgette  woke  in  the 
library  by  the  side  of  her  still  sleeping  brothers,  and 
wished  her  rosy  feet  £ood  -morning. 


CHAPTER  IL 

DEATH  SPEAKS. 

HHHE  mother  watched  this  mysterious  procession,  but 
-*-  neither  comprehended  nor  sought  to  understand; 
her  eyes  were  busy  with  another  visiou,  — her  children, 
lost  amidst  the  darkness.  She  went  out  of  the  village 
also,  a  little  after  the  cortege  which  had  filed  past,  and 
followed  the  same  route  at  some  distance  behind  the 
second  squad  of  gendarmes.  Suddenly  the  word  "  guil- 
lotine" recurred  to  her.  "  Guillotine!  "  she  said  to  her- 
self. This  rude  peasant,  Michelle  Fléchard,  did  not 
know  what  that  was,  but  instinct  warned  her.  She 
shivered  without  being  able  to  tell  wherefore  ;  it  seemed 
horrible  to  her  to  walk  behind  this  thing  and  she  turned 
to  the  left,  quitted  the  high-road,  and  passed  into  a 
wood,  which  was  the  forest  of  Fougères.  After  wander- 
ing for  some  time,  she  perceived  a  belfry  and  some  roofs  ; 
it  was  one  of  the  villages  scattered  along  the  edge  of  the 
forest.  She  went  toward  it  ;  she  was  hungry.  It  was 
one  of  the  villages  in  which  the  republicans  had  estab- 
lished military  posts.  She  passed  on  to  the  square  in 
front  of  the  mayoralty. 

In  this  village  there  was  also  fright  and  anxiety.  A 
crowd  pressed  up  to  the  flight  of  steps.  On  the  top  step 
stood  a  man,  escorted  by  soldiers  ;  he  held  in  his  hand 
a  great  open  placard  ;  at  his  right  was  stationed  a  drum- 
mer, at  his  left  a  bill-sticker,  carrying  a  paste-pot  and 
brush.     Upon  the  balcony  over  the  door  appeared  the 


DEATH  SPEAKS.  343 

mayor,  wearing  a  tricoloured  scarf  over  his  peasant 
dress.  The  man  with  the  placard  was  a  public  crier. 
He  wore  his  shoulder-belt,  with  a  small  wallet  hanging 
from  it,  —  a  sign  that  he  was  going  from  village  to  vil- 
lage, and  had  something  to  publish  throughout  the  dis- 
trict. At  the  moment  Michelle  Fléchard  approached, 
he  had  unfolded  the  placard,  and  was  beginning  to  read. 
He  read  in  a  loud  voice  :  — 

"  THE   FRENCH   EEPUBLIG  :  ONE.  AND   INDIVISIBLE.  " 

The  drum  beat.  There  was  a  sort  of  movement  among 
the  assembly.  A  few  took  off  their  caps  ;  others  pulled 
their  hats  closer  over  their  heads.  At  that  time  and  in 
that  country  one  could  almost  recognize  the  political 
opinions  of  a  man  by  his  head-gear  :  hats  were  roval- 
ist  ;  caps  republican.  The  confused  murmur  of  voices 
ceased  ;  everybody  listened  ;  the  crier  read  :  — ■ 

"  In  virtue  of  the  orders  we  have  received,  and  the  author- 
ity delegated  to  us  by  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  —  " 

The  drum  beat  the  second  time.  The  crier  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  And  in  execution  of  the  decree  of  the  National  Conven- 
tion, which  puts  beyond  the  law  all  rebels  taken  with  arms  in 
their  hands,  and  which  ordains  capital  punishment  to  whom- 
soever shall  give  them  shelter  or  help  them  to  escape  —  " 

A  peasant  asked,   in  a  low  voice  of  his  neighbour: 
"What  is  that, —  capital  punishment?" 
His  neighbour  replied  :  "  I  do  not  know.  " 
The  crier  fluttered  the  placard  :  — 

"  In  accordance  with  Article  17th  of  the  law  of  April  30, 
which  gives  full  power  to  delegates  and  sub-delegates  against 
rebels,  we  declare  outlaws  — ?; 

He  made  a  pause,  and  resumed  :  — 


344  NINETY-THREE. 

"  The  individuals  known  under  the  names  and  surnames 
which  follow  —  " 

The  whole  assemblage  listened  intently.  The  crier's 
voice  sounded  like  thunder.      He  read  :  — 

"  Lantenac,  brigand — " 

"  That  is  Monseigneur,  "  murmured  a  peasant  And 
through  the  whole  crowd  went  the  whisper  :  "  It  is 
Monseigneur.  n     Tho  crier  resumed  :  — 

Lantenac,  ci-devant  marquis,   brigand.      Imânus,    brig- 


a 
and 


Two  peasants  glanced  sideways  at  each  other. 
"  That  is  Gouge-le-Bruant.  " 

*  Yes  ;  it  is  Brise-Bleu.  " 

The  crier  continued  to  read  the  list  :  -  — 

11  Grand  Francœur,  brigand  —  " 

The  assembly  murmured,— 
"  He  is  a  priest. M 
"  Yes  ;  the  Abbé  Turmeau.  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  is  curé  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  o\ 
the  wood  of  Chapelle.  " 

"  And  brigand,  "  said  a  man  in  a  cap. 
The  crier  read  :  — 

"  Boisnouveau,  brigand.     The  two  brothers,  Pique-en-Bois 
brigands,      Houzard,  brigand  —  " 

"  That  is  Monsieur  de  Quelen,  "  said  a  peasant 

"  Panier,  brigand  —  " 

"  That  is  Monsieur  Sepher. 5;( 
"  Place  Nette,  brigand  —  " 

*  That  is  Monsieur  Jamois.  * 


DEATH  SPEAKS.  345 

The  crier  continued  his  reading  without  noticing  these 
commentaries  :  — 

* <  Guinoiseau,  brigand.    Chatenay,  styled  Robi,  brigand  —  n 

A  peasant  whispered  :  "  Guinoiseau  is  the  same  as  Le 
Blond  ;  Chatenay  is  from  Saint  Ouen.  " 

"  Hoisnard,  brigand  —  "  pursued  the  crier. 

Among  the  crowd  could  be  heard,  — 
"  He  is  from  Ruillé.  " 
"  Yes  ;  it  is  Branche  d'Or.  " 

"  His  brother  was  killed  in  the  attack  on  Fontorson.  " 
"  Yes  ;  Hoisnard  Malonnière.  " 
"  A  fine  young  chap  of  nineteen.  " 
"  Attention  !  "  said  the  crier.     "  Listen  to  the  last  of 
the  list  :  — 

"  Belle  Vigue,    brigand.     La  Musette,   brigand.     Sabre- 
tout,  brigand.     Brin  d'Amour  —  " 

A  îad  nudged  -the  elbow  of  a  young  girl.     The  girl 
smiled. 

The  crier  continued  :-  — 

'  '  Chante-en-Hiver,  brigand.     Le  Chat,  brigand  —  " 

A  peasant  said,  "  That  is  Moulard.  " 

u  Tabouze,  brigand  — ,? 

Another  peasant  said  :  "  That  is  Gauffre.  " 
"  There  are  two  of  the  Gauffres,  "  added  a  woman. 
"  Both  good  fellows,  "  grumbled  a  lad. 
The  crier  shook  the  placard,  and  the  drum  beat.      The 
crier  resumed  his  reading  :  — 

"The  above-named,  in  whatsoever  place  taken,  and  theiï 
identity  established,  shall  be  immediately  put  to  death." 


316  NINETY-THREE. 

There  was  a  movement  among  the  crowd.     The  crier 

went  on  :  — - 

"  Any  one  affording  them  shelter  or  aiding  their  escape, 
will  be  brought  before   a  court-martial  and  put  to  death. 
Signed  —  " 

The  silence  grew  profound. 

"The  Delegate  of  the  Committee  of  Public    Safety, 

"  ClMOURDAIN." 

"  A  priest,  "  said  a  peasant 

"  The  former  curé  of  Parigné,  "  said  another. 

A  townsman  added,  "  Turmeau  and  Cimourdain  — 
A  Blue  priest  and  a  White.  " 

"  Both  black,  "  said  another  townsman. 

The  mayor,  who  was  on  the  balcony  lifted  his  hats 
and  cried  :  "  Long  live  the  Eepublic  !  " 

A  roll  of  the  drum  announced  that  the  crier  had  not 
finished. 

He  was  making  a  sign  with  his  hand.  "  Attention  !  " 
said  he.  "  Listen  to  the  last  four  lines  of  the  Govern- 
ment proclamation.  They  are  signed  by  the  Chief  of 
the  exploring  column  of  the  North  Coasts,  Commandant 
Gauvain.  " 

"  Listen  !  "  exclaimed  the  voices  of  the  crowd.  And 
the  crier  read  :  — 

"  Under  pain  of  death  —  " 

All  were  silent. 

"It  is  forbidden,  in  pursuance  of  the  above  order,  to  give 
aid  or  succour  to  the  nineteen  rebels  above  named,  at  this 
time  shut  up  and  surrounded  in  La  Tourgue." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  a  voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  a 
woman  ;  of  the  mother. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

MUTTEKINGS   AMONG   THE   PEASANTS. 

MICHELLE  FLÉCHAED  had  mingled  with  the 
crowd.  She  had  listened  to  nothing,  but  one 
hears  certain  things  without  listening.  She  caught  the 
words  "  La  Tourgue.  "  She  raised  her  head.  "  What  ?  " 
she  repeated  "  La  Tourgue  !  " 

People  stared  at  her.  She  appeared  out  of  her  mind. 
She  was  in  rags.  Voices  murmured,  "  She  looks  like  a 
brigand.  "  A  peasant  woman,  who  carried  a  basket  of 
buckwheat  biscuits,  drew  near,  and  said  to  her  in  a  low 
voice  :  "  Hold  your  tongue  !  " 

Michelle  Fléchard  gazed  stupidly  at  the  woman. 
Again  she  understood  nothing.  The  name  La  Tourgue 
had  passed  through  her  mind  like  a  flash  of  lightning 
and  the  darkness  closed  anew  behind  it.  Had  she  not  a 
right  to  ask  information  ?  What  had  she  done  that  they 
should  stare  at  her  in  this  way  ? 

But  the  drum  had  beat  for  the  last  time  ;  the  bill- 
sticker  posted  up  the  placard  ;  the  mayor  retired  into 
the  house  ;  the  crier  set  out  for  some  other  village,  and 
the  mob  dispersed.  A  group  remained  before  the  pla- 
card ;  Michelle  Fléchard  joined  this  knot  of  people. 
They  were  commenting  on  the  names  of  the  men  de- 
clared outlaws.  There  were  peasants  and  townsmen 
among  them  ;   that  is  to  say,   Whites  and  Blues. 

A  peasant  said  :  "  After  all,  they  have  not  caught 
everybody.      Nineteen   are  only   nineteen.     They   have 


348  NINETY-THREE. 

not  got  Kiou,  they  have  not  got  Benjamin  Moulins,  nor 
Goupil  of  the  parish  of  Andouillé.  " 

"  Nor  Lorieul  of  Monjean,  "  said  another. 

Others  added,  — 

"  Nor  Brice  Denys.  " 

"  Nor  François  Dudouet.  * 

"  Yes,  him  of  Laval.  " 

"  Nor  Huet  of  Launey  Yilliers.  " 

"  Nor  Grégis.  " 

"Nor  Pilon." 

•  Nor  Filleul.  " 

"  Nor  Ménicent.  " 

"  Nor  Guéharrée.  n 

"  Nor  the  three  brothers  Logerais.  n 

"  Nor  Monsieur  Lechandelier  de  Pierreville.  " 

"  Idiots  !  "  said  a  stern-faced,  white-haired  old  man. 
"  They  have  all  if  they  have  Lantenac.  " 

"  They  have  not  got  him  yet,  "  murmured  one  of  the 
young  men. 

The  old  man  added  :  "  Lantenac  taken,  the  soul  is 
taken.     Lantenac  dead,   La  Vendée  is  slain.  " 

"  Who,  then,  is  this  Lantenac  ?  "   asked  a  townsman. 

A  townsman  replied  :  "  He  is  a  ci-devant.  " 

Another  added  :  "  He  is  one  of  those  who  shoot 
women.  " 

Michelle  Fléchard  heard  and  said  :  "  It  is  true.  " 

They  turned  toward  her. 

She  went  on  :  "  For  he  shot  me.  " 

It  was  a  strange  speech  ;  it  was  like  hearing  a  living 
woman  declare  herself  dead.  People  began  to  look  at 
her  a  little  suspiciously.  She  was  indeed  a  startling 
object  ;  trembling  at  everything,  scared,  quakiag,  show- 
ing a  sort  of  wild-animal  trouble,  so  frightened  that  she 
was  frightful.  There  is  always  something  terrible  in 
the  feebleness  of  a  despairing  woman  ;  she  is  a  creature 


MUTTERINGS  AMONG  THE  PEASANTS.  349 

who  has  reached  the  furthest  limits  of  destiny.  But 
peasants  have  not  a  habit  of  noticing  details.  One  of 
them  muttered,   "  She  might  easily  be  a  spy.  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  and  get  away  from  here,  "  the 
good  woman  who  had  already  spoken  to  her  said  in  a 
low  tone.  Michelle  Fléchard  replied  :  "  I  am  doing  no 
harm.      I  am  looking  for  my  children.  " 

The  good  woman  glanced  at  those  who  were  staring  at 
Michelle,  touched  her  forehead  with  one  finger  and 
winked,  saying  :  "  She  is  a  simpleton.  "  Then  she  took 
her  aside  and  gave  her  a  biscuit.  Michelle  Fléchard, 
without  thanking  her,  began  to  eat  greedily. 

"  Yes,  "  said  the  peasants,  "  she  eats  like  an  animal  ; 
she  is  an  idiot.  "  So  the  tail  of  the  mob  dwindled  away. 
They  all  went  away,  one  after  another. 

When  Michelle  Fléchard  had  devoured  her  biscuit, 
she  said  to  the  peasant  woman  :  "  Good  !  I  have  eaten. 
ISTow  where  is  La  Tourgue  ?  " 

"  It  is  taking  her  again  !  "  cried  the  peasant. 

"  I  must  go  to  La  Tourgue  !  Show  me  the  way  to  La 
Tourgue !  " 

"Never!"  exclaimed  the  peasant.  "Do  you  want  to 
get  yourself  killed,  eh  ?  Besides,  I  don't  know.  Oh, 
see  here  !  You  are  really  crazy  !  Listen,  poor  woman,, 
you  look  tired.  Will  you  come  to  my  house  and  rest 
yourself  ?  " 

"  I  never  rest,  "  said  the  mother. 

"  And  her  feet  are  torn  to  pieces  !  "  murmured  the 
peasant. 

Michelle  Fléchard  resumed:  "Don't  I  tell  you  that 
they  have  stolen  my  children  ?  —  a  little  girl  and  two 
boys.  I  come  from  the  carnichot  in  the  forest.  You 
can  ask  Tellmarch  the  Caimand  about  me,  and  the  man 
I  met  in  the  field  down  yonder.  It  was  the  Caimand 
who  cured  me  ;  it  seems  I  had  something  broken.     A1Î 


350  NINETY-THREE. 

that  is  what  happened  to  me.  Then  there  is  Sergeant 
Eadoub  besides,  —  you  can  ask  him,  he  will  tell  thee. 
Why,  he  was  the  one  we  met  in  the  wood.  Three,  —  I 
tell  you  three  children!  even  the  oldest  one's  name, 
—  Eené-Jean.  I  can  prove  all  that.  The  other's  name 
is  Gros -Alain,  and  the  little  girl's  is  Georgette.  My 
husband  is  dead,  —  they  killed  him  ;  he  was  the  farmer 
at  Siscoignard.  You  look  like  a  good  woman,  —  show 
me  the  road  !  I  am  not  crazy  ;  I  am  a  mother  !  I  have 
lost  my  children;  I  am  trying  to  find  them,  — that  is 
all.  I  don't  know  exactly  which  way  I  have  come.  I 
slept  last  night  in  a  barn  on  the  straw.  La  Tourgue, 
that  is  where  I  am  going.  I  am  not  a  thief.  You  must 
see  that  I  am  telling  the  truth  ;  you  ought  to  help  me 
find  my  children.  I  do  not  belong  to  the  neighbour- 
hood.     I  was  shot,  but  I  do  not  know  where.  " 

The  peasant  shook  her  head,  and  said  :  "  Listen,  trav- 
eller. In  times  of  revolution  you  mustn't  say  things 
that  cannot  be  understood  ;  you  may  get  yourself  taken 
up  in  that  way.  " 

"  But  La  Tourgue  !  "  cried  the  mother.  "  Madame, 
for  the  love  of  the  Child  Jesus  and  the  Blessed  Virgin 
up  in  Paradise,  I  beg  you,  madame,  I  entreat  you,  I 
conjure  you,  tell  me  which  way  I  must  go  to  get  to  La 
Tourgue  !  " 

The  peasant  woman  went  into  a  passion.  "  I  do  not 
know  !  And  if  I  knew  I  would  not  tell  !  It  is  a  bad 
place.      People  do  not  go  there.  " 

"  But  I  am  going,  "  said  the  mother.  And  she  set 
forth  again. 

The  woman  watched  her  depart,  muttering,  "  Still, 
she  must  have  something  to  eat.  "  She  ran  after 
Michelle  Fléchard  and  put  a  roll  of  black  bread  in  her 
hand  :  "  There  is  for  your  supper.  " 

Michelle  Fléchard  took  the  buckwheat  bread,  did  not 


MUTTERINGS  AMONG  THE  PEASANTS.  351 

answer,  did  not  turn  her  head,  but  walked  on.  She 
went  out  of  the  village.  As  she  reached  the  last  houses 
she  met  three  ragged,  barefooted  little  children.  She 
approached  them,  and  said  :  "  These  are  two  girls  and 
a  boy.  "  Noticing  that  they  looked  at  the  bread,  she 
gave  it  to  them.  The  children  took  the  bread,  then 
grew  frightened.     She  plunged  into  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  I¥. 

A  MISTAKE. 

(~\N  the  same  morning,  before  the  dawn  appeared, 
^-^  this  happened  amidst  the  obscurity  of  the  forest, 
along  the  crossroad  which  goes  from  Javené  to  Lécousse. 
.  All  the  roads  of  the  Breage  are  between  high  banks , 
but  of  all  the  routes,  that  leading  from  Javené  to 
Parigné  by  the  way  of  Lécousse  is  the  most  deeply  em- 
bedded. Besides  that,  it  is  winding;  it  is  a  ravine 
rather  than  a  road.  This  road  comes  from  Vitré,  and 
had  the  honour  of  jolting  Madame  de  Sévigné's  carriage. 
It  is,  as  it  were,  walled  in  to  the  right  and  left  by 
hedges.     There  could  be  no  better  place  for  an  ambush. 

On  this  morning,  an  hour  before  Michelle  Fléchard 
from  another  point  of  the  forest  reached  the  first  village 
where  she  had  seen  the  sepulchral  apparition  of  the 
wagon  escorted  by  gendarmes,  a  crowd  of  men  filled 
the  copses  where  the  Javené  road  crosses  the  bridge  over 
the  Couesnon.  The  branches  hid  them.  These  men  were 
peasants,  all  wearing  jackets  of  skins,  which  the  kings 
of  Brittany  wore  in  the  sixth  century  and  the  peasants 
in  the  eighteenth.  The  men  were  armed,  —  some  with 
guns,  others  with  axes.  Those  who  carried  axes  had 
just  prepared  in  an  open  space  a  sort  of  pyre  of  dried 
fagots  and  billets,  which  only  remained  to  be  set  on 
fire  ;  those  who  had  guns  were  stationed  at  the  two  sides 
of  the  road  in  watchful  positions.  Anybody  who  could 
have  looked  through  the  leaves  would  have  seen  every- 


A  MISTAKE.  353 

where  fingers  on  triggers,  and  guns  aimed  toward  the 
openings  left  by  the  interlacing  branches.  These  men 
were  on  the  watch.  All  the  guns  converged  toward  the 
road,  which  the  first  gleams  of  day  had  begun  to  whiten. 
In  this  twilight  low  voices  held  converse: — ■ 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  say  so.  " 

"  She  is  about  to  pass  ?  " 

"  They  say  she  is  in  the  neighbourhood.  " 

"  She  must  not  go  out.  " 

"  She  must  be  burned.  " 

"  We  are  three  villages  who  have  come  out  for  that. 5> 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  escort  ?  " 

"  The  escort  will  be  killed.  " 

"  But  will  she  pass  by  this  road  ?  * 

"  They  say  so'.  " 

"  Then  she  comes  from  Vitré  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  But  somebody  said  she  was  coming  from  Fougères.  " 

"  Whether  she  comes  from  Fougères  or  Vitré,  she 
comes  from  the  devil.  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  And  must  go  back  to  him.  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  So  she  is  going  to  Parigné  ?  " 

"  It  appears  so.  * 

"  She  will  not  go.  " 

"  No.  " 

"No,  no,  no!" 

"  Attention.  " 

"  It  became  prudent  now  to  be  silent,  for  the  day  was 
breaking.  Suddenly  these  ambushed  men  held  their 
breath;  they  caught  a  sound  of  wheels  and  horses'  feet. 
They  peered  through  the  branches,  and  could  perceive 
indistinctly  a  long  wagon,  an  escort  on  horseback,  and 


354  NINETY-THREE. 

something  on  the  wagon,  coming  toward  them  along  the 
high-banked  road. 

"  There  she  is,  "  said  one,  who  appeared  to  be  the 
leader. 

"  Yes,  "  said  one  of  the  scouts  ;  u  with  the  escort.  " 

"  How  many  men  ?  " 

"  Twelve.  " 

"  We  were  told  they  were  twenty.  " 

"  Twelve  or  twenty,  we  must  kill  the  whole.  " 

"  Wait  till  they  get  within  sure  aim.  " 

A  little  later,  the  wagon  and  its  escort  appeared  at  a 
turn  in  the  road.  "  Long  live  the  king  !  "  cried  the 
chief  peasant.  A  hundred  guns  were  fired  at  the  same 
instant. 

When  the  smoke  scattered,  the  escort  was  scattered 
also.  Seven  horsemen  had  fallen  ;  five  had  fled.  The 
peasants  rushed  up  to  the  wagon. 

"  Hold  !  "  cried  the  chief  ;  "  it  is  not  the  guillotine  ! 
It  is  a  ladder.  " 

A  long  ladder  was,  in  fact,  all  the  wagon  carried. 
The  two  horses  had  fallen  wounded;  the  driver  had 
been  killed,  but  not  intentionally. 

"  All  the  same,  "  said  the  chief  ;  "  a  ladder  with  an 
escort  looks  suspicious.  It  was  going  toward  Parigné. 
It  was  for  the  escalade  of  La  Tourgue,  very  sure.  " 

"  Let  us  burn  the  ladder  !  "  cried  the  peasants. 

And  they  burned  the  ladder.  As  for  the  funereal 
wagon  for  which  they  had  been  waiting,  it  was  pursuing 
another  road,  and  was  already  two  leagues  off,  in  the 
village  where  Michelle  Fléchard  saw  it  pass  at  sunrise. 


.   CHAPTER  V. 

VOX   IN   DESERTO. 

WHEN  Michelle  Fléchard  left  the  three  children 
to  whom  she  had  given  her  bread,  she  took  her 
way  at  random  through  the  wood.  Since  nobody  would 
point  out  the  road,  she  must  find  it  out  for  herself. 
Now  and  then  she  sat  down,  then  rose,  then  reseated 
herself  again.  She  was  borne  down  by  that  terrible 
fatigue  which  first  attacks  the  muscles,  then  passes  into 
the  bones,  —  weariness  like  that  of  a  slave.  She  was  a 
slave  in  truth,  —  the  slave  of  her  lost  children.  She 
must  find  them  ;  each  instant  that  elapsed  might  be  to 
their  hurt.  Whoso  has  a  duty  like  this  woman's  has  no 
rights  ;  it  is  forbidden  even  to  stop  to  take  breath.  But 
she  was  very  tired.  In  the  extreme  of  exhaustion  which 
she  had  reached,  another  step  became  a  question,  —  Can 
one  make  it  ?  She  had  walked  all  the  day,  encountering 
no  other  village,  not  even  a  house.  She  took  first  the 
right  path,  then  a  wrong  one,  ending  by  losing  herself 
amidst  leafy  labyrinths,  resembling  one  another  pre- 
cisely. Was  she  approaching  her  goal  ?  Was  she  near- 
ing  the  term  of  her  Passion  ?  She  was  in  the  Via 
Dolorosa,  and  felt  the  overwhelming  of  the  last  station. 
Was  she  about  to  fall  in  the  road,  and  die  there  ?  There 
came  a  moment  when  to  advance  farther  seemed  impos- 
sible to  her.  The  sun  was  declining,  the  forest  growing 
dark  ;  the  paths  were  hidden  beneath  the  grass,  and  she 
was  helpless.  She  had  nothing  left  but  God.  She  be- 
gan to  call;  no  voice  answered. 


356  NINETY-THREE. 

She  looked  about;  she  perceived  an  opening  in  the 
branches,  turned  in  that  direction,  and  found  herself 
suddenly  on  the  edge  of  the  wood.  She  had  before  her 
a  valley,  narrow  as  a  trench,  at  the  bottom  of  which  a 
clear  streamlet  ran  along  over  the  stones.  She  discov- 
ered then  she  was  burning  with  thirst;  she  went  down 
to  the  stream,  knelt  by  it,  and  drank.  She  took  advan- 
tage of  her  kneeling  position  to  say  her  prayers. 

When  she  rose  she  tried  to  decide  upon  a  course.  She 
crossed  the  brook.  Beyond  the  little  valley  stretched, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  a  plateau  covered  with 
short  underbrush,  which,  starting  from  the  brook,  as- 
cended in  an  inclined  plain,  and  filled  the  whole  hori- 
zon. The  forest  had  been  a  solitude  ;  this  plain  was  a 
desert.  .  Behind  every  bush  of  the  forest  she  might  meet 
some  one  ;  on  the  plateau,  as  far  as  she  could  see,  noth- 
ing met  her  gaze.  A  few  birds,  which  seemed  fright- 
ened, were  flying  away  over  the  heath.  Then,  in  the 
midst  of  this  awful  abandonment,  feeling  her  knees  give 
way  under  her,  and,  as  if  gone  suddenly  mad,  the  dis- 
tracted mother  flung  forth  this  strange  cry  into  the 
silence  :  "  Is  there  any  one  here  ?  " 

She  waited  for  an  answer.  It  came.  A  low,  deep 
voice  burst  forth  ;  it  proceeded  from  the  verge  of  the 
horizon,  was  borne  forward  from  echo  to  echo  ;  it  was 
either  a  peal  of  thunder  or  a  cannon,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  the  voice  replied  to  the  mother's  question,  and  that 
it  said,  "  Yes.  "     Then  the  silence  closed  in  'anew. 

The  mother  rose,  animated  with  fresh  life.  There 
was  some  one  ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  now  some 
person  with  whom  she  could  speak.  She  had  just  drank 
and  prayed  ;  her  strength  came  back  ;  she  began  to  as- 
cend the  plateau  in  the  direction  whence  she  had  heard 
that  vast  and  far-off  voice.  Suddenly  she  saw  a  lofty 
tower  start  up  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  horizon.     Ifc 


VOX  IN   DESERTO.  357 

was  the  only  object  visible  amidst  the  savage  landscape  ; 
a  ray  from  the  setting  sun  crimsoned  its  summit.  It 
was  more  than  a  league  away.  Behind  the  tower  spread 
a  great  sweep  of  scattered  verdure  lost  in  the  mist  :  it 
was  the  forest  of  Fougères.  This  tower  appeared  to  her 
to  be  the  point  whence  came  the  thundering  which  had 
sounded  like  a  summons  in  her  ear.  Was  it  that  which 
had  given  the  answer  to  her  cry  ? 

Michelle  Fléchard  reached  the  top  of  the  plateau  ; 
she  had  nothing  but  the  plain  before  her.  She  walked 
toward  the  tower. 


END  OF  VOL.   I. 


NINETY-THREE. 


CONTENTS. 
Vol.  IL 


BOOK   IV.  —  (Continued.) 

Chaptrr  Page 

VI.    The  Situation 4  1 

VIL    Preliminaries »  5 

VIII.    The  Word  and  the  Roar 10 

IX.     Titans  against  Giants 15 

X.     Radoub 20 

XI.     Desperate      .     .     .     .     , 28 

XII.     Deliverance 32 

XIII.  The  Executioner 35 

XIV.  Imanus  also  Escapes 38 

XV.    Never   put   a   Watch   and   a    Key    in    the    same 

Pocket 41 


BOOK  V.  —  In  Demons  Dbtjs. 

I.    Eound,  but  Lost .  45 

II.    Prom  the  Door  of  Stone  to  the  Iron  Door     .     .  54 
III-     Where  we  see  the  Children  wake  that  we  saw 

go  asleep . 57 


BOOK  VI.  —  After  the  Victory  the  Combat  begins. 

I.    Lantenac  taken 63 

II.     Gauvain's  Self-Questioning .      66 

III.    The  Commandant's  Mantle SO 


IV  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  VII.  —  Feudality  and  Kevolution. 
Chapter  Pagb 

I.    The  Ancestor 0  83 

II.    The  Court-Martial    » 92 

III.  The  Votes 96 

IV.  After  Cimourdain  the   Judge    comes   Cimourdain 

the  Master 102 

V.    The  Dungeon               .■    ■       ■'  t         104 

VI.    When  the  Sun  rose •    .    •  114 


BUG-JARGAL 1 

CLAUDE   GUEUX   1 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 
Vol.  II. 

Page 
"A   CLAMOUR   ROSE!      '  MERCY  !   MERCY  !'" 121 

BUG  JARGAL. 

Pierrot  carrying  off  Marie 63 

"  Who  can  tell  if  the  bullets   of  the  enemy  may  not 

have  spared  his  head  for  his  country's  guillotine  ?  "    211 

CLAUDE   GUEUX. 
Claude  Gueux  addressing  his  Companions 11 


NINETY-THREE 


BOOK    IV.  (Continued.) 


CHAPTEE  VL 

THE   SITUATION. 

THE  moment  had  come.  The  inexorable  held  the 
pitiless.      Cimourdain  had  Lantenac  in  his  hand. 

The  old  royalist  rebel  was  taken  in  his  form  ;  it  was 
evident  that  he  could  not  escape,  and  Cimourdain  meant 
that  the  marquis  should  be  beheaded  here,  —  upon  his 
own  territory,  his  own  lands,  —  on  this  very  spot,  in 
sight  of  his  ancestral  dwelling-place,  that  the  feudal 
stronghold  might  see  the  head  of  the  feudal  lord  fall, 
and  the  example  thus  be  made  memorable.  It  was  with 
this  intention  that  he  had  sent  to  Fougères  for  the  guil- 
lotine, which  we  lately  saw  upon  its  road.  To  kill  Lan- 
'tenac  'was  to  slay  the  Vendée  ;  to  slay  the  Vendée  was 
to  save  France.  Cimourdain  did  not  hesitate.  The 
conscience  of  this  man  was  quiet;  he  was  urged  to 
ferocity  by  a  sense  of  duty. 

The  marquis  appeared  lost;  as  far  as  that  went, 
Cimourdain  was  tranquil.  But  there  was  a  considera- 
tion which  troubled  him.  The  struggle  must  inevitably 
be  a  terrible  one.  Gauvain  would  direct  it,  and  perhaps 
would  wish  to  take  part.     This  young  chief  was  a  sol- 

TOL.   XVIII.  —  I 


2  NINETY-THREE. 

dier  at  heart  ;  he  was  just  the  man  to  fling  himself  into 
the  thick  of  this  pugilistic  combat.  If  he  should  be 
killed,  —  Gauvain,  his  child  !  the  unique  affection  he 
possessed  on  earth  !  So  far  fortune  had  protected  the 
youth  ;  but  fortune  might  grow  weary.  Cimourdain 
trembled.  His  strange  destiny  had  placed  him  here  be- 
tween these  two  Gauvains, —  for  one  of  whom  he  wished 
death,  for  the  other  life. 

The  cannon-shot  which  had  roused  Georgette  in  her 
cradle  and  summoned  the  mother  in  the  depths  of  her 
solitude  had  done  more  than  that.  Either  by  accident, 
or  owing  to  the  intention  of  the  man  who  fired  the  piece, 
the  ball,  although  only  meant  as  a  warning,  had  struck 
the  guard  of  iron  bars  which  protected  the  great  loop- 
hole of  the  first  ^oor  of  the  tower,  broken  it  and  half 
wrenched  it  away.  The  besieged  had  not  had  time  to 
repair  this  damage. 

The  besieged  had  been  boastful,  but  they  had  very 
little  ammunition.  Their  situation,  indeed,  was  much 
more  critical  than  the  besiegers  supposed.  If  they  had 
had  powder  enough  they  would  have  blown  up  La 
Tourgue  when  th^y  and  the  enemy  should  be  together 
within  it;  this  had  been  their  dream.  But  their  re- 
serves W9re  exhausted  ;  they  had  not  more  than  thirty 
charges  left  for  each  man.  They  had  plenty  of  guns, 
blunderbusses,  and  pistols,  but  few  cartridges.  They 
had  loaded  all  the  weapons  in  order  to  keep  up  a  steady 
fire;  but  how  long  could  this  steady  firing  last?  They 
must  lavishly  exhaust  the  resources  which  they  required 
to  husband.  That  was  the  difficulty.  Fortunately 
(sinister  fortune)  the  struggle  would  be  mostly  man  to 
man  ;  sabre  and  poniard  would  be  more  needed  than  fire- 
arms. The  conflict  would  be  rather  a  duel  with  knives 
than  a  battle  with  guns.  This  was  the  hope  of  the 
besieged. 


THE  SITUATION.  3 

The  interior  of  the  tower  seemed  impregnable.  In 
the  lower  hall,  which  the  mine  had  breached,  the  re- 
tirade  so  skilfully  constructed  guarded  the  entrance. 
Behind  the  retirade  was  a  long  table  covered  with  loaded 
weapons,  blunderbusses,  carbines,  and  muskets  ;  sabres, 
axes,  and  poniards.  Since  they  had  no  powder  to  blow 
up  the  tower,  the  crypt  of  the  oubliettes  could  not  be 
utilized  ;  therefore  the  marquis  had  closed  the  door  of 
the  dungeon.  Above  the  ground-floor  hall  was  the 
round  chamber  which  could  only  be  reached  by  the 
narrow,  winding  staircase.  This  chamber  (in  which 
there  also  set  a  table  covered  with  loaded  weapons  ready 
to  the  hand)  was  lighted  by  the  great  loop-hole,  the 
grating  of  which  had  just  been  broken  by  the  cannon- 
ball.  From  this  chamber  the  spiral  staircase  ascended 
to  the  circular  room  on  the  second  floor,  in  which  was 
the  iron  door  communicating  with  the  bridge-castle. 
This  chamber  was  called  indifferently  the  "  room  with 
the  iron  door,  "  or  the  "  mirror-room,  "  from  numerous 
small  looking-glasses  hung  to  rusty  old  nails  on  the 
naked  stones  of  the  wall,  —  a  fantastic  mingling  of  ele- 
gance and  savage  desolation.  Since  the  apartments  on 
the  upper  floor  could  not  be  successfully  defended,  this 
mirror-room  became  what  Manesson  Mallet,  the  law- 
giver in  regard  to  fortified  places,  calls  "  the  last  post 
where  the  besieged  can  capitulate.  "  The  struggle,  as 
we  have  already  said,  would  be  to  keep  the  assailants 
from  reaching  this  room.  This  second-floor  round  cham- 
ber was  lighted  by  loop-holes  ;  still,  a  torch  burned 
there.  This  torch,  in  an  iron  holder  like  the  one  in  the 
hall  below,  had  been  kindled  by  Imanus,  and  the  end 
of  the  sulphur-match  placed  near  it.  Terrible  careful- 
ness !  At  the  end  of  the  ground-floor  hall  was  a  board 
placed  upon  trestles,  which  held  food,  like  the  arrange- 
ment in  a  Homeric  cavern;  great  dishes  of  rice,   fur- 


4  NINETY-THREE. 

mety  of  black  grain,  hashed  veal,  hotchpotch,  biscuits, 
stewed  fruit,  and  jugs  of  cider.  Whoever  wished  could 
eat  and  drink. 

The  cannon-shot  set  them  all  on  the  watch.  Not  more 
than  a  half  hour  of  quiet  remained  to  them.  From  the 
top  of  the  tower  Imânus  watched  the  approach  of  the 
besiegers. 

Lantenac  had  ordered  his  men  not  to  fire  as  the 
assailants  came  forward.  He  said  :  "  They  are  four 
thousand  five  hundred.  To  kill  outside  is  useless. 
When  they  try  to  enter,  we  are  as  strong  as  they.  " 
Then  he  laughed,  and  added  :  "  Equality,  Fraternity.  " 

It  had  been  agreed  that  Imânus  should  sound  a  warn- 
ing on  his  horn  when  the  enemy  began  to  advance.  The 
little  troop,  posted  behind  the  retirade  or  on  the  stairs, 
waited  with  one  hand  on  their  muskets,  the  other  on 
their  rosaries. 

This  was  what  the  situation  had  resolved  itself  into  : 
For  the  assailants  a  breach  to  mount,  a  barricade  to 
force,  three  rooms  (one  above  the  other)  to  take  in  suc- 
cession by  main  strength,  two  winding  staircases  to  be 
carried  step  by  step  under  a  storm  of  bullets.  For  the 
besieged  —  to  die  ! 


CHAPTEE  VIL 

PEELIMINAKIES. 

GAUVAIN  on  his  side  arranged  the  order  of  attack. 
He  gave  *  his  last  instructions  to  Cimourdain, 
whose  part  in  the  action,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  to 
guard  the  plateau,  and  to  Guéchamp,  who  was  to  wait 
with  the  main  body  of  the  army  in  the  forest  camp.  It 
was  understood  that  neither  the  masked  battery  of  the 
wood  nor  the  open  battery  of  the  plateau  would  fire  un- 
less there  should  be  a  sortie  or  an  attempt  at  escape  on 
the  part  of  the  besieged.  Gauvain  had  reserved  for  him- 
self the  command  of  the  storming  column.  It  was 
that  which  troubled  Cimourdain. 

The  sun  had  just  set.  A  tower  in  an  open  country 
resembles  a  ship  in  open  sea.  It  must  be  attacked  in 
the  same  manner  :  it  is  a  boarding  rather  than  an  as- 
sault. No  cannon;  nothing  useless  attempted.  What 
would  be  the  good  of  cannonading  walls  fifteen  feet 
thick  ?  A  port-hole  ;  men  forcing  it  on  the  one  side, 
men  guarding  it  on  the  other  ;  axes,  knives,  pistols, 
fists,   and  teeth,  —  that  is  the  undertaking. 

Gauvain  felt  that  there  was  no  other  way  of  carrying 
La  Tourgue.  Nothing  can  be  more  murderous  than  a 
conflict  so  close  that  the  combatants  look  into  one  an- 
other's eyes.  He  had  lived  in  this  tower  when  a  child, 
and  knew  its  formidable  recesses  by  heart.  He  medi- 
tated profoundly. 

A  few  paces  from  him  his  lieutenant,  Guéchamp, 
stood  with  a  spy-glass  in  his  hand,  examining  the  hori- 


6  NINETY-THREE. 

zon  in  the  direction  of  Parigné.     Suddenly  he   cried 
"  Ah  !  at  last  !  " 

This  exclamation  aroused  Gauvain  from  his  reverie, 
■  What  is  it,   Guéchamp  ?  " 

"  Commandant,  the  ladder  is  coming.  " 

"  The  escape-ladder  ?  " 

■  Yes.  " 

"  How  ?     It  has  not  yet  got  here  ?  " 

"  No,  Commandant  And  I  was  troubled.  The  ex- 
press that  I  sent  to  Javené  came  back.  " 

"  I  know  it.  " 

"  He  told  me  that  he  had  found  at  the  carpenter's 
shop  in  Javené  a  ladder  of  the  requisite  dimensions  ;  he 
took  it  ;  he  had  it  put  on  a  cart  ;  he  demanded  an  escort 
of  twelve  horsemen,  and  he  saw  them  set  out  from 
Parigné,  —  the  cart,  the  escort,  and  the  ladder.  Then 
he  rode  back  full  speed,  and  made  his  report;  and  he 
added  that  the  horses  being  good  and  the  departure  hav- 
ing taken  place  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
wagon  would  be  here  before  sunset.  " 

"  I  know  all  that.     Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  Commandant,  the  sun  has  just  set,  and  the 
wagon  which  brings  the  ladder  has  not  yet  arrived.  " 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Still,  we  must  commence  the  attack. 
The  hour  has  come.  If  we  were  to  wait,  the  besieged 
would  think  we  hesitated.  " 

"  Commandant,  the  attack  can  commence.  '" 

"  But  the  escape-ladder  is  necessary.  " 

"  Without  doubt.  " 

"  But  we  have  not  got  it.  " 

"  We  have  it.  " 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Tt  was  that  which  made  me  say,  '  Ah  !  at  last  !  *  The 
itfagon  did  not  arrive  ;  I  took  my  telescope,  and  exam- 
ined the  route  from  Parigné  to  La  Tourgue,  and,  Com- 


PRELIMINARIES.  7 

mandant,  I  am  satisfied.  The  wagon  and  the  escort  are 
coming  down  yonder  ;  they  are  descending  a  hill.  You 
can  see  them.  " 

Gauvain  took  the  glass  and  looked.  "  Yes  ;  there  it 
is.  There  is  not  light  enough  to  distinguish  very 
clearly.  But 'I  can  see  the  escort, —  it  is  certainly  that. 
Only  the  escort  appears  to  me  more  numerous  than  you 
said,  Guéchamp.  " 

"  And  to  me  also.  " 

"  They  are  about  a  quarter  of  a  league  off.  " 

"  Commandant,  the  escape-ladder  will  be  here  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  " 

"  We  can  attack.  " 

It  was  indeed  a  wagon  which  they  saw  approaching, 
but  not  the  one  they  believed.  As  Gauvain  turned  he 
saw  Sergeant  Eadoub  standing  behind  him,  upright,  his 
eyes  downcast,   in  the  attitude  of  military  salute. 

"  What  is  it,  Sergeant  Eadoub  ?  " 

"  Citizen  commandant,  we,  the  men  of  the  Battal- 
ion of  the  Bonnet  Eouge,  have  a  favour  to  ask  of 
you.  • 

"  What  ?  " 

"  To  have  us  killed.  " 

*  Ah  !  "  said  Gauvain. 

"  Will  you  have  that  kindness  ?  " 

*  But  —  that  is  according  to  circumstances,  "  said 
Gauvain. 

"  Listen,  Commandant.  Since  the  affair  of  Pol,  you 
are  careful  of  us.     We  are  still  twelve.  " 

"  Well  ?" 

"  That  humiliates  us.  " 

"  You  are  the  reserve.  " 

"  We  would  rather  be  the  advance-guard.  " 

"  But  I  need  you  to  decide  success  at  the  close  of  the 
engagement.     I  keep  you  back  for  that. 


8  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Too  much.  " 

"  No.     You  are  in  the  column.     You  march.  * 

a  In  the  rear.     Paris  has  a  right  to  march  in  front  * 

*  I  will  think  of  it,  Sergeant  Eadoub.  " 

"  Think  of  it  to-day,  my  commandant.  There  is  an 
opportunity.  There  are  going  to  be  hard  blows  to  give 
or  to  take.  It  will  be  lively.  La  Tourgue  will  burn 
the  fingers  of  those  that  touch  her.  We  demand  the 
favour  of  being  in  the  party.  "  The  sergeant  paused, 
twisted  his  moustache,  and  added,  in  an  altered  voice  : 
"  Besides,  look  you,  my  commandant,  our  little  ones  are 
in  this  tower.  Our  children  are  there,  —  the  children  of 
the  battalion,  —  our  three  children.  That  abominable 
beast  called  Brise-Bleu  and  Imânus,  this  Gouge-le- 
Bruant,  this  Bouge-le-Gruant,  this  Fouge-le-Truant, 
this  thunder-clap  of  the  devil,  threatens  our  children. 
Our  children,  —  our  pets,  Commandant.  If  all  the  earth- 
quakes should  mix  in  the  business,  we  cannot  have  any 
misfortune  happen  to  them.  Do  you  hear  that  —  author- 
ity ?  We  will  have  none  of  it.  A  little  while  ago  I  took 
advantage  of  the  truce,  and  mounted  the  plateau,  and 
looked  at  them  through  a  window  ;  yes,  they  are  cer- 
tainly there,  —  you  can  see  them  from  the  edge  of  the 
ravine.  I  did  see  them,  and  they  were  afraid  of  me, 
the  darlings.  Commandant,  if  a  single  hair  of  their 
little  cherub  pates  should  fall,  I  swear  by  the  thousand 
names  of  everything  sacred,  —  I,  Sergeant  Eadoub,  — 
that  I  will  have  revenge  out  of  somebody.  And  that  is 
what  all  the  battalion  say  :  either  we  want  the  babies 
saved,  or  we  want  to  be  all  killed.  It  is  our  right  :  yes 
•—  all  killed.      And  now,  salute  and  respect.  " 

Gauvain  held  out  his  hand  to  Eadoub,  and  said  : 
K  You  are  brave  men.  You  shall  have  a  place  in  the 
attacking  column.  I  will  divide  you  into  two  parties. 
I  will  put  six  of  you  in  the  vanguard  to  make  sure  that 


PRELIMINARIES.  9 

the  troops  advance,  and  six  in  the  rear-guard  to  make 
sure  that  nobody  retreats.  " 

a  Shall  I  command  the  twelve,  as  usual  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  " 

"  Then,  my  commandant,  thanks.  For  I  am  of  the 
vanguard.  " 

Eadoub  made  another  military  salute,  and  went  back 
to  his  company. 

Gauvain  drew  out  his  watch,  spoke  a  few  words  in 
Guéchamp's  ear,  and  the  storming  column  began  to 
form. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

THE   WORD   AND   THE   ROAR. 

NOW,  Cimourdain,  who  had  not  yet  gone  to  his  post 
on  the  plateau,  approached  a  trumpeter.  "  Sound 
your  trumpet  !  "  said  he. 

The  clarion  sounded  ;  the  horn  replied.  Again  the 
trumpet  and  the  horn  exchanged  a  blast. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  Gauvain  asked  Guéchamp. 
"  What  is  it  Cimourdain  wants  ?  " 

Cimourdain  advanced  toward  the  tower,  holding  a 
white  handkerchief  in  his  hand.  He  spoke  in  a  loud 
voice  :  "  Men  who  are  in  the  tower,  do  you  know  me  ?  " 

A  voice  —  the  voice  of  Imânus  —  replied  from  the 
summit  :  "  Yes.  " 

The  following  dialogue  between  the  two  voices  reached 
the  ears  of  those  about  :  — 

"  I  am  the  Envoy  of  the  Republic.  " 

"  You  are  the  late  Curé  of  Parigné.  " 

"  I  am  the  delegate  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety.  " 

"  You  are  a  priest.  " 

"  I  am  the  representative  of  the  law.  M 

"  You  are  a  renegade.  " 

"  I  am  the  commissioner  of  the  Revolution.  * 

u  You  are  an  apostate.  " 

"  I  am  Cimourdain.  " 


THE  WORD  AND  THE  ROAR.  11 

"  You  are  the  demon.  " 

"Do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  We  hate  you.  " 

"  Would  you  be  content  if  you  had  me  in  your  power  ?  " 

"  We  are  here  eighteen,  who  would  give  our  heads  to 
have  yours.  " 

"  Very  well  ;  I  come  to  deliver  myself  up  to  you.  " 

From  the  top  of  the  tower  rang  a  burst  of  savage 
laughter,  and  this  cry  :  "  Come  !  " 

The  camp  waited  in  the  breathless  silence  of 
expectancy. 

Cimourdain  resumed  :  "  On  one  condition.  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Listen.  " 

"  Speak.  » 

"  You  hate  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  And  I  love  you.     I  am  your  brother.  " 

The  voice  from  the  top  of  the  tower  replied  :  "  Yes, 
Cain.  " 

Cimourdain  went  on  in  a  singular  tone,  at  once  loud 
and  sweet  :  "  Insult  me  ;  but  listen.  I  come  here  un- 
der a  flag  of  truce.  Yes,  you  are  my  brothers.  You 
are  poor  mistaken  creatures.  I  am  your  friend.  I  am 
the  light,  and  I  speak  to  ignorance.  Light  is  always 
brotherhood.  Besides,  have  we  not  all  the  same  mother, 
—  our  country  ?  Well,  listen  to  me  :  you  will  know 
hereafter,  or  your  children  will  know,  or  your  children's 
children  will  know,  that  what  is  done  in  this  moment 
is  brought  about  by  the  law  above,  and  that  the  Revo- 
lution is  the  work  of  God.  While  awaiting  the  time 
when  all  consciences,  even  yours,  shall  understand  this  ; 
when  all  fanaticisms,  even  yours,  shall  vanish,  — while 
waiting  for  this  great  light  to  spread,  will  no  one  have 
pity  on  your  darkness  ?     I  come  to  you.     I  offer  you  my 


12  NINETY-THREE. 

head.  I  do  more,  —  I  hold  out  my  hand  to  you.  1 
demand  of  you  the  favour  to  destroy  me  in  order  to  save 
yourselves.  I  have  unlimited  authority,  and  that  which 
I  say  I  can  do.  This  is  a  supreme  instant.  I  make  a 
last  effort.  Yes,  he  who  speaks  to  you  is  a  citizen  and 
in  this  citizen  —  yes  —  there  is  a  priest.  The  citizen 
defies  you,  but  the  priest  implores  you.  Listen  to  me. 
Many  among  you  have  wives  and  children.  I  am  de- 
fending your  children  and  your  wives,  —  defending  them 
against  yourselves.      Oh,   my  brothers  —  " 

"  Go  on  !     Preach  !  "   sneered  Imânus. 

"  My  brothers,  do  not  let  the  terrible  horn  sound, 
Throats  are  to  be  cut.  Many  among  us  who  are  here 
before  you  will  not  see  to-morrow's  sun;  yes,  many  of 
us  will  perish,  and  you  —  you  are  all  going  to  die. 
Show  mercy  to  yourselves.  Why  shed  all  this  blood, 
when  it  is  useless  ?  Why  kill  so  many  men,  when  it 
would  suffice  to  kill  two  ?  " 

"  Two  ?  "  repeated  Imânus. 

"  Yes.      Two.  " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Lantenac  and  myself.  "  Cimourdain  spoke  more 
loudly.  "  Two  men  are  too  many.  Lantenac  for  us  ;  I 
for  you.  This  is  what  I  propose  to  you,  and  you  will 
all  have  your  lives  safe.  Give  us  Lantenac,  and  take 
me.  Lantenac  will  be  guillotined,  and  you  shall  do 
what  you  choose  with  me.  " 

"  Priest,  "  howled  Imânus,  "  if  we  had  thee  we  would 
roast  thee  at  a  slow  fire  !  " 

"  I  consent,  "  said  Cimourdain.  He  went  on  :  "  You, 
the  condemned  who  are  in  this  tower,  you  can  all  in  an 
hour  be  living  and  free.  I  bring  you  safety.  Do  you 
accept  ?  " 

Imânus  burst  forth  :  "  You  are  not  only  a  villain,  you 
are  a  madman.     Ah,  why  do  you  come  here  to  disturb 


THE   WORD   AND  THE  ROAR.  13 

us  ?  "Who  begged  you  to  come  and  speak  to  us  ?  We 
give  up  Monseigneur  ?     What  is  it  you  want  ?  " 

"  His  head.     And  I  offer  —  " 

"  Your  skin.  Oh,  we  would  flay  you  like  a  dog,  Curé 
Cimourdain  !  Well,  no  ;  your  skin  is  not  worth  his 
head.      Get  away  with  you  !  " 

"  The  massacre  will  be  horrible.  For  the  last  time 
—  reflect." 

Night  had  come  on  during  this  strange  colloquy,  which 
could  be  heard  without  and  within  the  tower.  The 
Marquis  de  Lantenac  kept  silence,  and  allowed  events 
to  take  their  course.  Leaders  possess  such  sinister 
egotism  ;  it  is  one  of  the  rights  of  responsibility. 

Imanus  sent  his  voice  beyond  Cimourdain  ;  he  shouted  : 
"  Men,  who  attack  us,  we  have  submitted  our  proposi- 
tions to  you  :  they  are  settled  ;  we  have  nothing  to 
change  in  them.  Accept  them,  else  woe  to  all  !  Do 
you  consent  ?  We  will  give  you  up  the  three  children, 
and  you  will  allow  liberty  and  life  to  us  all!  " 

"  To  all,  yes,  "  replied  Cimourdain,  "  except  one.  " 

"  And  that  ?  " 

"  Lantenac.  n 

"  Monseigneur  !     Give  up  Monseigneur  ?     Never  !  " 

"  We  can  only  treat  with  you  on  that  condition.  " 

•  Then  begin.  " 

Silence  fell.  Imânus  descended  after  having  sounded 
the  signal  on  his  horn  ;  the  marquis  took  his  sword  in 
his  hand  ;  the  nineteen  besieged  grouped  themselves  in 
silence  behind  the  retirade  of  the  lower  hall  and  sank 
upon  their  knees.  They  could  hear  the  measured  tread 
of  the  column  as  it  advanced  toward  the  tower  in  the 
gloom.  The  sound  came  nearer;  suddenly  they  heard 
it  close  to  them,  at  the  very  mouth  of  the  breach.  Then 
all,  kneeling,  aimed  their  guns  and  blunderbusses  across 
the  openings  of  the  barricade,  and  one  ot  them  —  GranCi 


14  NINETY-THREE. 

Francœur,  who  was  the  priest  Turmeau  —  raised  him- 
self, with  a  naked  sabre  in  his  right  hand  and  a  crucifix 
in  his  left,  saying,  in  a  solemn  voice,  — ■ 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost!" 

All  fired  at  the  same  time,  and  the  battle  began. 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

TITANS   AGAINST   GIANTS. 

THE  encounter  was  frightful.  This  hand-to-hand 
contest  went  beyond  the  power  of  fancy  in  its 
awfulness.  To  find  anything  similar,  it  would  be  ne- 
cessary to  go  back  to  the  great  duels  of  iEschylus  or  th» 
ancient  feudal  butcheries  ;  to  "  those  attacks  with  short 
arms  "  which  lasted  down  to  the  seventeenth  century, 
when  men  penetrated  into  fortified  places  by  concealed 
breaches,  tragic  assaults,  where,  says  the  old  sergeant 
of  the  province  of  Alentejo,  "  when  the  mines  had  done 
their  work,  the  besiegers  advanced  bearing  planks  cov- 
ered with  sheets  of  tin,  and,  armed  with  round  shields 
and  furnished  with  grenades,  they  forced  those  who 
held  the  intrenchments  or  retirades  to  abandon  them; 
and  thus  become  masters,  they  vigorously  drove  in  the 
besieged.  " 

The  place  of  attack  was  terrible  ;  it  was  what  in  mili- 
tary language  is  called  "  a  covered  breach,  "  —  that  is  to 
say,  a  crevice  traversing  the  wall  through  and  through, 
and  not  an  extended  fracture  open  to  the  sky.  The 
powder  had  acted  like  an  auger.  The  effect  of  the  ex- 
plosion had  been  so  violent  that  the  tower  was  cracked 
for  more  than  forty  feet  above  the  chamber  of  the  mine. 
But  this  was  only  a  crack  ;  the  practicable  rent  which 
served  as  a  breach,  and  which  gave  admittance  into  the 
lower  hall,  resembled  a  thrust  from  a  lance  which 
pierces,  rather  than  a  blow  from  an  axe  which  gashes. 


16  NINETY-THREE. 

It  was  a  puncture  in  the  flank  of  the  tower  ;  a  long  cut, 
something  like  the  mouth  of  a  well  ;  a  passage,  twisting 
and  mounting  like  an  intestine  along  the  wall  fifteen 
feet  in  thickness;  a  misshapen  cylinder,  encumbered 
with  obstacles,  traps,  stones  broken  by  the  explosion, 
where  any  one  entering  struck  his  head  against  the 
granite  rock,  his  feet  against  the  rubbish,  while  the 
darkness  blinded  him. 

The  assailants  saw  before  them  this  black  gap,  the 
mouth  of  a  gulf,  which  had  for  upper  and  lower  jaws 
all  the  stones  of  the  jagged  wall:  a  shark's  mouth  has 
not  more  teeth  than  had  this  frightful  opening.  It  was 
necessary  to  enter  this  gap  and  to  get  out  of  it.  Within 
was  the  wall  ;  without  rose  the  retirade,  —  without  ; 
that  is  to  say,   in  the  hall  of  the  ground-floor. 

The  encounters  of  sappers  in  covered  galleries  when 
the  countermine  succeeds  in  cutting  the  mine,  the 
butcheries  in  the  gun -decks  of  vessels  boarded  in  a  naval 
engagement,  alone  have  this  ferocity.  To  fight  in  the 
bottom  of  a  grave,  —  it  is  the  supreme  degree  of  horror  ; 
it  is  frightful  for  men  to  meet  in  the  death-struggle  in 
such  narrow  bounds.  At  the  instant  when  the  first 
rush  of  besiegers  entered,  the  whole  retirade  blazed 
with  lightnings  ;  it  was  like  a  thunder-bolt  bursting 
under-ground.  The  thunder  of  the  assailants  replied 
to  that  of  the  ambuscade  ;  the  detonations  answered  one 
another.  Gauvain's  voice  was  heard  shouting,  "  Drive 
them  back!  "  Then  Lantenac's  cry,  "  Hold  firm  against 
the  enemy!  "  Then  Imânus's  yell,  "  Here,  you  men  of 
the  Main  !  "  Then  the  clash  of  sabr.es  against  sabres, 
and  echo  after  echo  of  terrible  discharges  that  killed 
right  and  left.  The  torch  fastened  against  the  wall 
dimly  lighted  the  horrible  scene.  It  was  impossible 
clearly  to  distinguish  anything  ;  the  combatants  strug- 
gled amidst  a  lurid  night;    whoever  entered  was  sud- 


TITANS  AGAINST  GIANTS.  17 

denly  struck  deaf  and  blind, — deafened  by  the  noise, 
blinded  by  the  smoke.  The  combatants  trod  upon  the 
corpses  ;  they  lacerated  the  wounds  of  the  injured  men 
lying  helpless  amidst  the  rubbish,  stamped  recklessly 
upon  limbs  already  broken  ;  the  sufferers  uttered  awful 
groans  ;  the  dying  fastened  their  teeth  in  the  feet  of 
their  unconscious  tormentors.  Then  for  an  instant  would 
come  a  silence  more  dreadful  than  the  tumult  :  the  foes 
collared  each  other;  the  hissing  sound  of  their  breath 
could  be  heard  ;  the  gnashing  of  teeth,  death-groans, 
curses,  —  then  the  thunder  would  recommence.  A 
stream  of  blood  flowed  out  from  the  tower  through  the 
breach  and  spread  away  across  the  darkness,  and  formed 
smoking  pools  upon  the  grass.  One  might  have  said 
that  the  tower  had  been  wounded,  and  that  the  giantess 
was  bleeding. 

Strange  thing  !  scarcely  a  sound  of  the  struggle  could 
be  heard  without.  The  night  was  very  black,,  and  a  sort 
of  funereal  calm  reigned  in  plain  and  forest  about  the 
beleaguered  fortress.  Hell  was  within,  the  sepulchre 
without.  This  shock  of  men  exterminating  one  another 
amidst  the  darkness,  these  musket-volleys,  these  clam- 
ours, these  shouts  of  rage,  —  all  that  din  expired  beneath 
that  mass  of  walls  and  arches;  air  was  lacking,  and 
suffocation  added  itself  to  the  carnage.  Scarcely  a 
sound  reached  those  outside  the  tower.  The  little  chil- 
dren slept. 

The  desperate  strife  grew  madder.  The  retirade  held 
firm.  Nothing  more  difficult  than  to  force  a  barricade 
with  a  re-entering  angle.  If  the  besieged  had  numbers 
against  them,  they  had  at  least  the  position  in  theii 
favour.  The  storming-column  lost  many  men.  Stretched 
in  a  long  line  outside  the  tower,  it  forced  its  way  slowly 
in  through  the  opening  of  the  breach  like  a  snake  twist- 
ing itself  into  its  den. 

TOL.   XVIII.  —  2 


18  NINETY-THREE. 

Gauvain,  with  the  natural  imprudence  of  a  youthful 
leader,  was  in  the  hall  in  the  thickest  of  the  mêlée,  with 
the  bullets  flying  in  every  direction  about  his  head. 
Besides  the  imprudence  of  his  age,  he  had  the  assurance 
of  a  man  who  has  never  been  wounded.  As  he  turned 
about  to  give  an  order,  the  glare  of  a  volley  of  musketry 
lighted  up  a  face  close  beside  him.  "  Cimourdain  !  "  he 
cried.      "  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

It  was  indeed  Cimourdain.  He  replied  :  "  I  have  come 
to  be  near  you.  " 

"  But  you  will  be  killed  !  " 

"  Very  well  :  you  —  what  are  you  doing,  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  necessary  here  ;  you  are  not.  " 

"  Since  you  are  here,  I  must  be  here  too.  " 

"  No,  my  master  !  " 

"  Yes,  my  child  I  " 

And  Cimourdain  remained  near  Gauvain. 

The  dead  lay  in  heaps  on  the  pavement  of  the  hall. 
Although  the  retirade  was  not  yet  carried,  numbers 
would  evidently  conquer  at  last.  The  assailants  were 
sheltered,  and  the  assailed  under  cover;  ten  besiegers 
fell  to  one  among  the  besieged,  but  the  besiegers  were 
constantly  renewed,  the  assailants  increased,  and  the 
assailed  grew  less.  The  nineteen  besieged  were  all  be- 
hind the  retirade,  because  the  attack  was  made  there. 
They  had  dead  and  wounded  among  them;  not  more 
than  fifteen  could  fight  now.  One  of  the  most  furious, 
Chante-en-Hiver,  had  been  horribly  mutilated.  He  was 
a  stubby,  woolly-haired  Breton,  little  and  active  ;  he 
had  an  eye  shot  out,  and  his  jaw  broken.  He  could 
walk  still  ;  he  dragged  himself  up  the  spiral  staircase, 
and  reached  the  chamber  of  the  first  floor,  hoping  to  be 
able  to  say  a  prayer  there  and  die.  He  backed  himself 
against  the  wall  near  the  loop-hole  in  order  to  breathe 
a  little  fresh  air. 


TITANS  AGAINST   GIANTS.  19 

Beneath,  in  front  of  the  barricade,  the  butchery  be- 
came more  and  more  horrible.  In  a  pause  between  the 
answering  discharges,  Cimourdain  raised  his  voice  : 
"  Besieged  !  "  cried  he.  "  Why  let  any  more  blood  flow  ? 
You  are  beaten.  Surrender  !  Think  !  we  are  four  thou- 
sand five  hundred  men  against  nineteen,  —  that  is  to 
say,  more  than  two  hundred  against  one.      Surrender  !  " 

"  Let  us  stop  these  babblings,  "  retorted  the  Marquis 
de  Lantenac  ;  and  twenty  balls  answered  Cimourdain. 

The  retirade  did  not  reach  to  the  arched  roof;  this 
space  permitted  the  besieged  to  fire  upon  the  barricade, 
but  it  also  gave  the  besiegers  an  opportunity  to  scale  it. 

"  Assault  the  retirade  !  "  cried  Gauvain.  "  Is  there 
any  man  willing  to  scale  the  retirade  ?  " 

"II"  said  Sergeant  Eadoub. 


CHAPTEK  X. 

KADOUB. 

THEN  a  sort  of  stupor  seized  the  assailants.  Eadoub 
had  entered  the  breach  at  the  head  of  the  column, 
and  of  those  men  of  the  Parisian  battalion  of  which  he 
made  the  sixth,  four  had  already  fallen.  After  he  had 
uttered  that  shout,  "  I  !  "  he  was  seen  to  recoil  instead 
of  advance.  Stooping,  bending  forward,  almost  creeping 
between  the  legs  of  the  combatants,  he  regained  the 
opening  of  the  breach  and  rushed  out.  Was  it  a  flight  ? 
A  man  like  this  to  fly  !     What  did  it  mean  ? 

When  he  was  outside,  Kadoub,  still  blinded  by  the 
smoke,  rubbed  his  eyes  as  if  to  clear  them  from  the 
horror  of  the  cavernous  night  he  had  just  left,  and 
studied  the  wall  of  the  tower  by  the  starlight.  He 
nodded  his  head,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  was  not  mistaken.  " 

Eadoub  had  noticed  that  the  deep  crack  made  by  the 
explosion  of  the  mine  extended  above  the  breach  to  the 
loop-hole  of  the  upper  story,  whose  iron  grating  had 
been  shattered,  and  by  a  ball.  The  net-work  of  broken 
bars  hung  loosely  down,  so  that  a  man  could  enter.  A 
man  could  enter,  but  could  he  climb  up  ?  By  the  crev- 
ice it  might  have  been  possible  for  a  cat  to  mount.  That 
was  what  Eadoub  was.  He  belonged  to  the  race  which 
Pindar  calls  "  the  agile  athletes.  "  One  may  be  an  old 
soldier  and  a  young  man.  Eadoub,  who  had  belonged 
fco  the  French  guards,  was  not  yet  forty;  he  was  a  nim 
ble  Hercules. 


RADOUB.  21 

Kadoub  threw  his  musket  on  the  ground,  tooii  off'  his 
shoulder-belts,  laid  aside  his  coat  and  jacket,  guarding 
his  two  pistols,  which  he  thrust  in  his  trousers' -belt, 
and  his  naked  sabre,  which  he  held  between  his  teeth  ; 
the  butt-ends  of  the  pistols  protruded  above  his  belt. 
Thus  lightened  of  everything  useless,  and  followed  in 
the  obscurity  by  the  eyes  of  all  such  of  the  attacking 
column  as  had  not  yet  entered  the  breach,  he  began  to 
climb  the  stones  of  the  cracked  wall  as  if  they  had  been 
the  steps  of  a  staircase.  Having  no  shoes  was  an  ad- 
vantage ;  nothing  can  cling  like  a  naked  foot.  He 
twisted  his  toes  into  the  holes  of  the  stones  ;  he  hoisted 
himself  with  his  fists,  and  bore  his  weight  on  his  knees. 
The  ascent  was  a  hazardous  one  ;  it  was  somewhat  like 
climbing  along  the  teeth  of  a  gigantic  saw.  "  Luckily,  " 
thought  he,  "  there  is  nobody  in  the  chamber  of  the  first 
story,  else  I  should  not  be  allowed  to  climb  up  like 
this.  " 

Eadoub  had  not  more  than  forty  feet  left  to  mount. 
He  was  somewhat  encumbered  by  the  projecting  butt- 
ends  of  his  pistols  ;  and,  as  he  climbed,  the  crevice  nar- 
rowed, rendering  the  ascent  more  and  more  difficult,  so 
that  the  danger  of  falling  increased  as  he  went  on.  At 
last  he  reached  the  frame  of  the  loop-hole  and  pushed 
aside  the  twisted  and  broken  grating  so  that  he  had 
space  enough  to  pass  through.  He  raised  himself  for 
a  last  powerful  effort,  rested  his  knee  on  the  cornice  of 
the  ledge,  seized  with  one  hand  a  bar  of  the  grating 
at  the  left,  with  the  other  a  bar  at  the  right,  lifted  half 
his  body  in  front  of  the  embrasure  of  the  loop-hole, 
and,  sabre  between  his  teeth,  hung  thus  suspended  by 
his  two  fists  over  the  abyss.  It  only  needed  one  spring 
more  to  land  him  in  the  chamber  of  the  first  floor. 

But  a  face  appeared  in  a  loop-bole.  Radoub  saw  a  fright- 
ful spectacle  rise  suddenly  before  him  in  the  gloom,  —  an 


22  NINETY-THREE. 

eye  torn  out,  a  jaw  fractured,  a  bloody  mask.  Thia 
mask,  which  had  only  one  eye  left,  was  watching  him. 
This  mask  had  two  hands  ;  these  two  hands  thrust  them- 
selves out  of  the  darkness  of  this  loop-hole  and  clutched 
at  Eadoub  ;  one  of  them  seized  the  two  pistols  in  his  belt, 
the  other  snatched  the  sword  from  between  his  teeth. 
Radoub  was  disarmed.  His  knee  slipped  upon  the  in- 
clined plane  of  the  cornice  ;  his  two  fists,  cramped  about 
the  bars  of  the  grating,  barely  sufficed  to  support  him; 
and  beneath  was  a  sheer  descent  of  forty  feet. 

This  mask  and  these  hands  belonged  to  Chante-en- 
Hiver.  Suffocated  by  the  smoke  which  rose  from  the 
room  below,  Chante-en-Hiver  had  succeeded  in  entering 
the  embrasure  of  the  loop-hole  :  the  air  from  without 
had  revived  him  ;  the  freshness  of  the  night  had  con- 
gealed the  blood,  and  his  strength  had  in  a  measure 
come  back.  Suddenly  he  perceived  the  torso  of  Radoub 
rise  in  front  of  the  embrasure.  Radoub,  having  his 
hands  twisted  about  the  bars,  had  no  choice  but  to  let 
himself  fall  or  allow  himself  to  be  disarmed  ;  so  Chante- 
en-Hiver,  with  a  horrible  tranquillity,  had  taken  the 
two  pistols  out  of  his  belt  and  the  sabre  from  between 
his  teeth. 

Then  commenced  an  unheard-of  duel,  —  a  duel  be- 
tween the  disarmed  and  the  wounded.  Evidently  the 
dying  man  had  the  victory  in  his  own  hands.  A  single 
shot  would  suffice  to  hurl  Radoub  into  the  yawning  gulf 
beneath  his  feet.  Luckily  for  Radoub,  Chante-en-Hiver 
held  both  pistols  in  the  same  hand,  so  that  he  could  not 
fire  either,  and  was  forced  to  make  use  of  the  sabre.  He 
struck  Radoub  a  blow  on  the  shoulder  with  the  point. 
The  sabre-stroke  wounded  Radoub,  but  saved  his  life. 
The  soldier  was  unarmed,  but  in  full  possession  of  his 
strength.  Regardless  of  his  wound,  which  indeed  was 
only  a  flesh-cut,  he  swung  hk  body  vigorously  forward, 


RADOUB  23 

loosed  his  hold  of  the  bars,  and  bounded  through  the 
loop-hole.  There  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Chante-en-Hiver,  who  had  thrown  the  sabre  behind  him 
and  was  clutching  a  pistol  in  either  hand.  Chante-en- 
Hiver  had  Eadoub  close  to  the  muzzle  as  he  took  aim 
upon  his  knees,  but  his  enfeebled  arm  trembled,  and  he 
did  not  fire  at  once. 

Eadoub  took  advantage  of  this  respite  to  burst  out 
laughing.  "  I  say,  ugly  face  !  "  cried  he,  "  do  you  sup- 
pose you  frighten  me  with  your  bloody  bullock's  jaws? 
Thunder  and  Mars,  how  they  have  shattered  your 
features  !  " 

Chante-en-Hiver  took  aim. 

Eadoub  continued  :  "  It  is  not  polite  to  mention  it,  but 
the  grape-shot  has  dotted  your  mug  very  neatly.  Bel- 
lona  has  disturbed  your  physiognomy,  my  lad.  Come, 
come  ;  spit  out  your  little  pistol-shot,  my  good  fellow  !  * 

Chante-en-Hiver  fired;  the  ball  passed  so  close  to 
Eadoub 's  head  that  it  carried  away  part  of  his  ear.  His 
foe  raised  the  second  pistol  in  his  other  hand. 

Eadoub  did  not  give  him  time  to  take  aim.  "  It  is 
enough  to  lose  one  ear  !  "  cried  he.  "  You  have  wounded 
me  twice.     It  is  my  turn  now.  " 

He  flung  himself  on  Chante-en-Hiver,  knocked  aside 
his  arm  with  such  force  that  the  pistol  went  off  and  the 
ball  whizzed  against  the  ceiling.  He  seized  his  enemy's 
broken  jaw  in  both  hands  and  twisted  it  about.  Chante- 
en-Hiver  uttered  a  howl  of  pain  and  fainted.  Eadoub 
stepped  across  his  body  and  left  him  lying  in  the  em- 
brasure of  the  loop-hole. 

"Now  that  I  have  announced  my  ultimatum,  don't 
you  stir  again,  "  said  he.  "  Lie  there,  you  ugly  crawling 
snake  !  You  may  fancy  that  I  am  not  going  to  amuse 
myself  by  massacring  you.  Crawl  about  on  the  ground 
at  your  ease, —  under  foot  is  the  place  for  you.     Die,—- 


24  NINETY-THREE. 

you  can't  get  rid  of  that!  In  a  little  while  you  will 
learn  what  nonsense  your  priest  has  talked  to  you.  Away 
with  you  into  the  great  mystery,  peasant  !  "  And  he 
hurried  forward  into  the  room.  "  One  cannot  see  an 
inch  before  one's  nose,"  grumbled  he. 

Chante-en-Hiver  began  to  writhe  convulsively  upon 
the  floor,  and  utter  fresh  moans  of  agony. 

Eadoub  turned  back.  "  Hold  your  tongue  !  Do  me 
the  favour  to  be  silent,  citizen,  without  knowing  it.  I 
cannot  trouble  myself  further  with  you  ;  I  should  scorn 
to  make  an  end  of  you.      Just  let  me  have  quiet.  " 

Then  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  hair  as  he  stood 
watching  Chante-en-Hiver.  "  But  here,  what  am  I  to  do 
now  ?  It  is  all  very  fine,  but  I  am  disarmed.  I  had  two 
shots  to  fire,  and  you  have  robbed  me  of  them,  animal  ! 
and  with  all  that,  a  smoke  that  would  blind  a  dog  !  " 

Then  his  hand  touched  his  wounded  ear.  "  Aïe  !  "  he 
said. 

Then  he  went  on  :  *  You  have  gained  a  great  deal  by 
confiscating  one  of  my  ears  !  However,  I  would  rather 
have  one  less  of  them  than  anything  else  :  an  ear  is  only 
an  ornament.  You  have  scratched  my  shoulder,  too; 
but  that  is  nothing.      Expire,  villager  !  I  forgive  you.  * 

He  listened.  The  din  from  the  lower  room  was  fear- 
ful. The  combat  had  grown  more  furious  than  ever. 
"  Things  are  going  well  down  there,  "  he  muttered. 
"  How  they  howl  '  Live  the  king  !  '  One  must  admit 
that  they  die  bravely.  " 

His  foot  struck  against  the  sabre.  He  picked  it  up, 
and  said  to  Chante-en-Hiver,  who  no  longer  stirred,  and 
who  might  indeed  be  dead  :  "  See  here,  man  of  the 
woods,  I  will  take  my  sabre  ;  you  have  left  me  that,  any 
way.  But  I  needed  my  pistols.  The  devil  fly  away 
with  you,  savage!  Oh,  there,  what  am  I  to  do?  I  am 
no  good  whatever  here.  " 


KADOUB.  25 

He  advanced  into  the  hall  trying  to  guide  his  steps  in 
the  gloom.  Suddenly,  in  the  shadow  behind  the  cen- 
tral pillar,  he  perceived  a  long  table  upon  which  some- 
thing gleamed  faintly.  He  felt  the  objects.  They  were 
blunderbusses,  carbines,  pistols,  a  whole  row  of  fire- 
arms laid  out  in  order  to  his  hand  ;  it  was  the  reserve  of 
weapons  the  besieged  had  provided  in  this  chamber, 
which  would  be  their  second  place  of  stand,  a  whole 
arsenal 

"  A  sideboard  !  "  cried  Radoub  ;  and  he  clutched  them 
right  and  left,  dizzy  with  joy.  Thus  armed,  he  became 
formidable. 

He  could  see  back  of  the  table  the  door  of  the  stair- 
case, which  communicated  with  the  rooms  above  and 
below,  standing  wide  open.  Radoub  seized  two  pistols, 
and  fired  them  at  random  through  the  doorway ,  then  he 
snatched  a  blunderbuss,  and  fired  that,  —  then  a  blun- 
derbuss loaded  with  buckshot,  and  discharged  it.  The 
blunderbuss,  vomiting  forth  its  fifteen  balls,  sounded 
like  a  volley  of  grape-shot.  He  got  his  breath  back, 
and  shouted  down  the  staircase,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
"  Long  live  Paris  !  "  Then  seizing  a  second  blunderbuss, 
still  bigger  than  the  first,  he  aimed  it  toward  the  stair- 
case and  waited. 

The  confusion  in  the  lower  hall  was  indescribable. 
This  unexpected  attack  from  behind  paralyzed  the  be- 
sieged with  astonishment.  Two  balls  from  Radoub  's 
triple  fire  had  taken  effect:  one  had  killed  the  elder  of 
the  brothers  Pique-en-Bois  ;  the  other  had  killed  De 
Quélen,  nicknamed  Houzard. 

"  They  are  on  the  floor  above  !  "  cried  the  marquis. 

At  this  cry  the  men  abandoned  the  retirade,  —  a  flock 
of  birds  could  not  have  fled  more  quickly ,  they  plunged 
madly  toward  the  staircase. 

The  marquis  encouraged  the  flight.     "  Quick,  quick  !  " 


26  NINETY-THREE. 

he  exclaimed.  "  There  is  most  courage  now  in  escape. 
Let  us  all  get  up  to  the  second  floor.  We  will  begin 
again  there.  "  He  left  the  retirade  the  last.  This  brave 
act  saved  his  life. 

Badoub,  ambushed  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  watched 
the  retreat,  finger  on  trigger.  The  first  who  appeared  at 
the  turn  of  the  spiral  steps  received  the  discharge  of  his 
gun  full  in  their  faces,  and  fell.  Had  the  marquis  been 
among  them,  he  would  have  been  killed.  Before 
Badoub  had  time  to  seize  another  weapon,  the  others 
passed  him, —  the  marquis  behind  all  the  rest,  and  mov- 
ing more  slowly. 

Believing  the  first-floor  chambers  filled  with  the  be- 
siegers, the  men  did  not  pause  there,  but  rushed  on  and 
gained  the  room  above,  which  was  the  hall  of  the  mir- 
rors. There  was  the  iron  door  ;  there  was  the  sulphur- 
match  ;  it  was  there  they  must  capitulate  or  die. 

Gauvain  had  been  as  much  astounded  as  the  besieged 
by  the  detonations  from  the  staircase,  and  was  unable  to 
understand  how  aid  could  have  reached  him  in  that 
quarter  ;  but  he  took  advantage  without  waiting  to  com- 
prehend. He  leaped  over  the  retirade,  followed  by  his 
men,  and  pursued  the  fugitives  up  to  the  first  floor. 
There  he  found  Badoub. 

The  sergeant  saluted,  and  said  :  "  One  minute,  my 
commandant.  I  did  that.  I  remembered  Dol  ;  I  fol- 
lowed your  plan  :  I  took  the  enemy  between  two  fires.  " 

"  A  good  scholar,  "  answered  Gauvain,  with  a  smile. 

After  one  has  been  a  certain  length  of  time  in  the 
darkness,  the  eyes  become  accustomed  to  the  obscurity 
like  those  of  a  night-bird.  Gauvain  perceived  that 
Badoub  was  covered  with  blood.  "  But  you  are  wounded, 
comrade  !  "    he  exclaimed. 

"  Never  mind  that,  my  commandant  !  What  differ- 
ence does  it  make, —  an  ear  more  or  less  ?     I  got  a  sabre- 


RADOUB.  27 

thrust,  too,  but  it  is  nothing.  One  always  cuts  one's 
self  a  little  in  breaking  a  window;  it  is  only  losing  a 
little  blood.  " 

The  besiegers  made  a  halt  in  the  first-floor  chamber, 
which  had  been  conquered  by  Kadoub.  A  lantern  was 
brought.  Cimourdain  rejoined  Gauvain.  They  held  a 
council.  It  was  time  to  reflect,  indeed.  The  besiegers 
were  not  in  the  secrets  of  their  foes  :  they  were  unaware 
of  the  lack  of  munitions  ;  they  did  not  know  that  the 
defenders  of  the  tower  were  short  of  powder,  that  the 
second  floor  must  be  the  last  post  where  a  stand  could 
be  made  ;  the  assailants  could  not  tell  but  the  staircase 
might  be  mined.  One  thing  was  certain,  —  the  enemy 
could  not  escape.  Those  who  had  not  been  killed  were 
as  safe  as  if  under  lock  and  key.  Lantenac  was  in  the 
trap. 

Certain  of  this,  the  besiegers  could  afford  to  give 
themselves  time  to  choose  the  best  means  of  bringing 
about  the  end.  Numbers  among  them  had  been  killed 
already.  The  thing  now  was  to  spare  the  men  as  much 
as  possible  in  this  last  assault.  The  risk  of  this  final 
attack  would  be  great.  The  first  fire  would  without  doubt 
be  a  hot  one.  The  combat  was  interrupted.  The  besieg- 
ers, masters  of  the  ground  and  first  floors,  waited  the 
orders  of  the  commander-in-chief  to  renew  the  conflict. 
Gauvain  and  Cimourdain  were  holding  counsel. 

Radoub  assisted  in  silence  at  their  deliberation.  At 
length  he  timidly  hazarded  another  military  salute. 
*  Commandant  !  " 

"  What  is  it,  Eadoub  ?  " 

"  Have  I  a  right  to  a  little  recompense  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.     Ask  what  you  like.  " 

"  I  ask  permission  to  mount  the  first.  M 

It  was  impossible  to  refuse  him  ;  indeed,  he  would 
have  done  it  without  permission. 


CHAPTER  XI 

DESPERATE. 

WHILE  this  consultation  i;ook  place  on  the  first 
floor,  the  besieged  were  barricading  the  second. 
Success  is  a  fury  ;  defeat  is  a  madness.  The  encounter 
between  the  foes  would  be  frenzied.  To  be  close  on 
victory  intoxicates.  The  men  below  were  inspired  by 
hope,  which  would  be  the  most  powerful  of  human  in- 
centives if  despair  did  not  exist.  Despair  was  above, 
—  a  calm,  cold  sinister  despair. 

When  the  besieged  reached  the  hall  of  refuge,  beyond 
which  they  had  no  resource,  no  hope,  their  first  care  had 
been  to  bar  the  entrance.  To  lock  the  door  was  useless  ; 
it  was  necessary  to  block  the  staircase.  In  a  position 
like  theirs,  an  obstacle  across  which  they  could  see,  and 
over  which  they  could  fight,  was  worth  more  than  a 
closed  door.  The  torch  which  Imanus  had  planted  in 
the  wall  near  the  sulphur-match  lighted  the  room. 
There  was  in  the  chamber  one  of  those  great,  heavy  oak 
chests  which  were  used  to  hold  clothes  and  linen  before 
the  invention  of  chests  of  drawers.  They  dragged  this 
chest  out,  and  stood  it  on  end  in  the  door-way  of  the 
staircase.  It  fitted  solidly  and  closed  the  entrance, 
leaving  open  at  the  top  a  narrow  space  by  which  a  man 
could  pass  ;  but  it  was  scarcely  probable  that  the  assail- 
ants would  run  the  risk  of  being  killed  one  after  another 
by  any  attempt  to  pass  the  barrier  in  single  file. 


DESPERATE.  29 

This  obstruction  of  the  entrance  afforded  the  besieged 
a  respite.  They  numbered  their  company.  Out  of  the 
nineteen  only  seven  remained,  of  whom  Imânus  made 
one.  With  the  exception  of  Imânus  and  the  marquis, 
they  were  all  wounded.  The  five  wounded  men  (active 
still,  for  in  the  heat  of  combat  any  wound  less  than 
mortal  leaves  a  man  able  to  move  about)  were  Chatenay 
(called  Kobi),  Guinoiseau,  Hoisnard  (Branche  d'Or),  Brin 
d'Amour,  and  Grand  Francœur.  All  the  others  were 
dead.  They  had  no  munitions  left  ;  the  cartridge-boxes 
were  almost  empty  :  they  counted  the  cartridges.  How 
many  shots  were  there  left  for  the  seven  to  fire  ?  Four! 
They  had  reached  the  pass  where  nothing  remained  but 
to  fall.  They  had  retreated  to  the  precipice  ;  it  yawned 
black  and  terrible;  they  stood  upon  the  very  edge. 
Still,  the  attack  was  about  to  recommence,  —  slowly,  and 
all  the  more  surely  on  that  account.  They  could  hear 
the  butt-end  of  the  muskets  sound  along  the  staircase 
step  by  step,  as  the  besiegers  advanced.  No  means  of 
escape.  By  the  library  ?  On  the  plateau  bristled  six 
cannon  with  every  match  lighted.  By  the  upper  cham- 
bers ?  To  what  end  ?  They  gaze  on  the  platform  :  the 
only  resource  when  that  was  reached  would  be  to  fling 
themselves  from  the  top  of  the  tower. 

The  seven  survivors  of  this  Homeric  band  found  them- 
selves inexorably  enclosed  and  held  fast  by  that  thick 
wall  which  at  once  protected  and  betrayed  them.  They 
were  not  yet  taken,  but  they  were  already  prisoners. 

The  marquis  spoke  :  "  My  friends,  all  is  finished.  " 
Then  after  a  silence,  he  added  :  "  Grand  Francœur,  be- 
come açain  the  Abbé  Turmeau.  " 

All  knelt,  rosary  in  hand.  The  measured  stroke  of 
the  muskets  sounded  nearer.  Grand  Francœur  covered 
with  blood  from  a  wound  which  had  grazed  Ms  skull 
and  torn  away  his  leather  cap,  raised  the  crucifix  in  his 


30  NINETY-THKEE. 

right  hand.  The  marquis,  a  sceptic  at  bottom,  bent 
his  knee  to  the  ground. 

"  Let  each  one  confess  his  faults  aloud,  "  said  Grand 
Francœur.      "  Monseigneur,  speak.  " 

The  marquis  answered,  "  I  have  killed.  " 

"  I  have  killed,  "  said  Hoisnard. 

"  I  have  killed,  "  said  Guinoiseau. 

"  I  have  killed,"  said  Brin  d'Amour. 

"  I  have  killed,  "  said  Chatenay. 

"  I  have  killed,  "  said  Imânus. 

And  Grand  Francœur  replied  :  "  In  the  name  of  the 
most  Holy  Trinity  I  absolve  you.  May  your  souls  de- 
part in  peace  !  " 

"  Amen,  "  replied  all  the  voices. 

The  marquis  raised  himself.  "  Now  let  us  die,  *  he 
said. 

"  And  kill,  "  added  Imânus. 

The  blows  from  the  butt-end  of  the  besiegers'  muskets 
began  to  shake  the  chest  which  barred  the  door. 

"  Think  of  God,  "  said  the  priest  ;  "  earth  no  longer 
exists  for  you.  " 

"  It  is  true,  "  replied  the  marquis  ;  "  we  are  in  the 
tomb.  " 

All  bowed  their  heads  and  smote  their  breasts.  The 
marquis  and  the  priest  were  alone  standing.  The 
priest  prayed,  keeping  his  eyes  cast  down  ;  the  peasants 
prayed;  the  marquis  reflected.  The  coffer  echoed  dis- 
mally, as  if  under  the  stroke  of  hammers. 

At  this  instant  a  rapid,  strong  voice  sounded  sud- 
denly behind  them,  exclaiming  :  *  Did  I  not  tell  you 
so,  monseigneur  ?  " 

All  turned  their  heads  in  stupefied  wonder.  A  gap  had 
just  opened  in  the  wall.  A  stone,  perfectly  fitted  into 
the  others,  but  not  cemented,  and  having  a  pivot  above 
and  a  pivot  below,  had  just  revolved  like  a  turnstile, 


DESPERATE.  31 

leaving  the  wall  open.  The  stone  having  revolved  on 
its  axis,  the  opening  was  double,  and  offered  two  means 
of  exit,  — one  to  the  right  and  one  to  the  left;  narrow, 
but  leaving  space  enough  to  allow  a  man  to  pass.  Be- 
yond this  door,  so  unexpectedly  opened,  could  be  seen 
the  first  steps  of  a  spiral  staircase.  A  face  appeared  in 
the  opening.     The  marquis  recognized  Halmalo. 


CHAPTEK  XTL 

DELIVERANCE. 

*  TS  it  you,  Halmalo  ?  " 

X-  "  It  is  I,  monseigneur.  You  see  there  are  stones 
that  turn  ;  they  really  exist  ;  you  can  get  out  of  here. 
I  am  just  in  time  ;  but  come  quickly.  In  ten  minutes 
vou  will  be  in  the  heart  of  the  forest.  " 

"  God  is  great,  "  said  the  priest. 

"  Save  yourself,  monseigneur  !  "  cried  the  men  in 
concert. 

"  All  of  you  go  first,  "  said  the  marquis. 

"  You  must  go  first,  monseigneur,  "  returned  the  Abbé 
Turmeau.      "  I  go  the  last.  " 

And  the  marquis  added,  in  a  severe  tone  :  "  No  strug- 
gle of  generosity  ;  we  have  no  time  to  be  magnanimous. 
You  are  wounded;  I  order  you  to  live  and  to  fly. 
Quick!  Take  advantage  of  this  outlet.    Thanks,  Halmalo." 

"  Marquis,  must  we  separate  ?  "  asked  the  Abbé 
Turmeau. 

"  Below,  without  doubt.  We  can  only  escape  one  by 
one." 

"  Does  Monseigneur  assign  us  a  rendezvous  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  a  glade  in  the  foi  est,  —  La  Pierre  Gauvaine. 
Do  you  know  the  place  ?  " 

"  We  all  know  it.  " 

"  I  shall  be  there  to-morrow  at  noon.  Let  all  those 
who  can  walk  meet  me  at  that  time.  " 

"  Every  man  will  be  there.  " 

*  And  we  will  begin  the  war  anew,  "  said  the  marquis, 


DELIVERANCE.  33 

As  Halmalo  pushed  against  the  turning-stone,  he 
found  that  it  did  not  stir.  The  aperture  could  not  be 
closed  again. 

"  Monseigneur,  "  he  said,  "  we  must  hasten.  The  stone 
will  not  move.  I  was  able  to  open  the  passage,  but  1 
cannot  shut  it.  " 

The  stone,  in  fact,  had  become  deadened,  as  it  were, 
on  its  hinges  from  long  disuse.  It  was  impossible  to 
make  it  revolve  back  into  its  place. 

"  Monseigneur,  "  resumed  Halmalo,  "  I  had  hoped  to 
close  the  passage,  so  that  the  Blues,  when  they  got  in 
and  found  no  one,  would  think  you  must  have  flown  off 
in  the  smoke.  But  the  stone  will  not  budge.  The 
enemy  will  see  the  outlet  open,  and  can  follow.  At 
least,  do  not  let  us  lose  a  second.  Quick  !  everybody 
make  for  the  staircase  !  " 

Imânus  laid  his  hand  on  Halmalo's  shoulder.  "  Com- 
rade, how  much  time  will  it  take  to  get  from  here  to  the 
forest  and  to  safety  ?  " 

"  Is  there  any  one  seriously  wounded  ?  "  asked 
Halmalo. 

They  answered,  "  Nobody.  " 

"  In  that  case  a  quarter  of  an  hour  will  be  enough.  " 

"  Go,  "  said  Imânus  ;  "  if  the  enemy  can  be  kept  out 
of  here  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  —  " 

"  They  may  follow  ;  they  cannot  overtake  us.  " 

"  But,  "  said  the  marquis,  "  they  will  be  here  in  five 
minutes  ;  that  old  chest  cannot  hold  out  against  them 
any  longer.  A  few  blows  from  their  muskets  will  end 
the  business.  A  quarter  of  an  hour!  Who  can  keep 
them  back  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ?  " 

"  I,  "  said  Imânus. 

"You,  Gouge-le-Bruant?" 

"  I,  monseigneur.  Listen.  Five  out  of  six  of  you 
are  wounded.      I  have  not  a  scratch.  " 

TOI*  3CVWI.  —  S 


34  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Nor  I,  *  said  the  marquis. 

"  You  are  the  chief,   monseigneur.     I  am  a  soldier. 
Chief  and  soldier  are  two.  " 

"  I  know  we  have  each  a  different  duty.  " 

*  No,  monseigneur,  we  have,  you  and  I,  the  same 
duty  ;  it  is  to  save  you.  " 

Imânus  turned  toward  his  companions.  "  Comrades, 
the  thing  necessary  to  be  done  is  to  hold  the  enemy  in 
check  and  retard  the  pursuit  as  long  as  possible.  Listen. 
I  am  in  possession  of  my  full  strength  ;  I  have  not  lost 
a  drop  of  blood;  not  being  wounded,  I  can  hold  out 
longer  than  any  of  the  others.  Fly,  all  of  you  !  Leave 
me  your  weapons  ;  I  will  make  good  use  of  them.  I 
take  it  on  myself  to  stop  the  enemy  for  a  good  half  hour. 
How  many  loaded  pistols  are  there  ?  " 

"  Four.  " 

"  Lay  them  on  the  floor.  "  His  command  was  obeyed. 
"  It  is  well.  I  stay  here.  They  will  find  somebody  to 
talk  with.     Now,  quick  !  get  away.  " 

Life  and  death  hung  in  the  balance  ;  there  was  no 
time  for  thanks,  —  scarcely  time  for  those  nearest  to 
grasp  his  hand. 

"  We  shall  meet  soon,  "  the  marquis  said  to  him. 

"  No,  monseigneur  ;  I  hope  not,  —  not  soon  ;  for  I  am 
going  to  die.  " 

They  got  through  the  opening  one  after  another  and 
passed  down  the  stairs,  the  wounded  going  first.  While 
the  men  were  escaping,  the  marquis  took  a  pencil  out  of 
a  note-book  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket  and  wrote  a 
few  words  on  the  stone,  which,  remaining  motionless, 
left  the  passage  gaping  open. 

"  Come,  monseigneur,  they  are  all  gone  but  you,  " 
said  Halmalo.  And  the  sailor  began  to  descend  the 
stairs.      The  marquis  followed. 

Imânus  remained  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   EXECUTIONER. 

THE  four  pistols  had  been  laid  on  the  flags,  for  the 
chamber  had  no  flooring.  Imânus  grasped  a 
pistol  in  either  hand.  He  moved  obliquely  toward  the 
entrance  to  the  staircase  which  the  chest  obstructed  and 
masked. 

The  assailants  evidently  feared  some  surprise,  —  one 
of  those  final  explosions  which  involve  conqueror  and 
conquered  in  the  same  catastrophe.  This  last  attack 
was  as  slow  and  prudent  as  the  first  had  been  impetuous. 
They  had  not  been  able  to  push  the  chest  backward 
into  the  chamber,  —  perhaps  would  not  have  done  it  if 
they  could.  They  had  broken  the  bottom  with  blows 
from  their  muskets,  and  pierced  the  top  with  bayonet 
holes  ;  by  these  holes  they  were  trying  to  see  into  the 
hall  before  entering.  The  light  from  the  lanterns  with 
which  they  had  illuminated  the  staircase  shone  through 
these  chinks. 

Imânus  perceived  an  eye  regarding  him  through  one 
of  the  holes.  He  aimed  his  pistol  quickly  at  the  place, 
and  pulled  the  trigger.  To  his  joy,  a  horrible  cry  fol- 
lowed the  report.  The  ball  had  entered  the  eye  and 
passed  through  the  brain  of  the  soldier,  who  fell  back- 
ward down  the  stairs. 

The  assailants  had  broken  two  large  holes  in  the 
cover;  Imânus  thrust  his  pistol  through  one  of  these 
and  fired  at  random  into  the  mass  of  besiegers.     The 


36  NINETY-THREE. 

ball  must  have  rebounded,  for  he  heard  several  cries,  as 
if  three  or  four  were  killed  or  wounded  ;  then  there  was 
a  great  trampling  and  tumult  as  the  men  fell  back. 
Imânus  threw  down  the  two  pistols  which  he  had  just 
fired,  and,  taking  the  two  which  still  remained,  peered 
out  through  the  holes  in  the  chest.  He  was  able  to  see 
what  execution  his  shots  had  done. 

The  assailants  had  descended  the  stairs.  The  twist- 
ing of  the  spiral  staircase  only  allowed  him  to  look 
down  three  or  four  steps  ;  the  men  he  had  shot  lay 
writhing  there  in  the  death  agony.  Imânus  waited.  "  It 
is  so  much  time  gained,  "  thought  he.  Then  he  saw  a  man 
flat  on  his  stomach  creeping  up  the  stairs  ;  at  the  same 
instant  the  head  of  another  soldier  appeared  lower  down 
from  behind  the  pillar  about  which  the  spiral  wound. 
Imânus  aimed  at  this  head  and  fired.  A  cry  followed, 
the  soldier  fell;  and  Imânus,  while  watching,  threw 
away  the  empty  pistol,  and  changed  the  loaded  one  from 
his  left  hand  to  his  right.  As  he  did  so  he  felt  a  horri  • 
ble  pain,  and,  in  his  turn,  uttered  a  yell  of  agony.  A 
sabre  had  traversed  his  bowels.  A  fist  (the  fist  of  the 
man  who  had  crept  up  the  stairs)  had  just  been  thrust 
through  the  second  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  chest,  and 
this  fist  had  plunged  a  sabre  into  Imânus  's  body.  The 
wound  was  frightful  ;  the  abdomen  was  pierced  through 
and  through. 

Imânus  did  not  fall.  He  set  his  teeth  together  and 
muttered,  "  Good  !  "  Then  he  dragged  himself,  totter- 
ing  along,  and  retreated  to  the  iron  door,  at  the  side  of 
which  the  torch  was  still  burning.  He  laid  his  pistol 
on  the  stones  and  seized  the  torch,  and  while  with  his 
left  hand  he  held  together  the  terrible  wound  through 
which  his  intestines  protruded,  with  the  right  he  low- 
ered the  torch  till  it  touched  the  sulphur-match.  It 
caught  fire  instantaneously  ;  the  wick  blazed. 


THE  EXECUTIONER.  37 

Imânus  dropped  the  torch  ;  it  lay  on  the  ground  still 
burning.  He  seized  his  pistol  anew,  dropped  forward 
upon  the  flags,  and  with  what  breath  he  had  left  blew 
the  wick.  The  flame  ran  along  it,  passed  beneath  the 
iron  door,  and  reached  the  bridge-castle.  Then  seeing 
that  his  execrable  exploit  had  succeeded, —  prouder,  per- 
haps, of  this  crime  than  of  the  courage  he  had  before 
shown, —  this  man,  who  had  just  proved  himself  a  hero, 
only  to  sink  into  an  assassin,  smiled  as  he  stretched 
himself  out  to  die,  and  muttered  :  "  They  will  remember 
me.  I  take  vengeance  on  their  little  ones  for  the  fate  of 
our  little  one.  —  the  king  shut  up  in  the  Temple  ?  " 


CHAPTEE   XIV. 

IMANUS  ALSO  ESCAPES. 

AT  this  moment  there  was  a  great  noise  ;  the  chest 
was  hurled  violently  back  into  the  hall,  and  gave 
passage  to  a  man  who  rushed  forward,  sabre  in  hand, 
crying,  — 

"  It  is  I  —  Eadoub  !  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  It 
bores  me  to  wait.  I  have  risked  it.  Anyway  I  have 
just  disembowelled  one.  Now  I  attack  the  whole  of  you. 
Whether  the  rest  follow  me  or  don't  follow  me,  here  I 
am.     How  many  are  there  of  you  ?  " 

It  was  indeed  Eadoub,  and  he  was  alone  ! 

After  the  massacre  Imanus  had  caused  upon  the  stairs, 
Gauvain,  fearing  some  secret  mine,  had  drawn  back  his 
men  and  consulted  with  Cimourdain.  Eadoub,  stand- 
ing sabre  in  hand  upon  the  threshold,  sent  his  voice 
anew  into  the  obscurity  of  the  chamber  across  which 
the  nearly  extinguished  torch  cast  a  faint  gleam,  and 
repeated  his  question,  "  I  am  one.  How  many  are 
you?" 

There  was  no  answer.  He  stepped  forward.  One  of 
those  sudden  jets  of  light  which  an  expiring  fire  some- 
times sends  out,  and  which  seem  like  its  dying  throes, 
burst  from  the  torch  and  illuminated  the  entire  cham- 
ber. Eadoub  caught  sight  of  himself  in  one  of  the  mir- 
rors hanging  against  the  wall,  —  approached  it,  and 
examined  his  bleeding  face  and  wounded  ear.  "  Horri- 
ble mutilation  !"  said  he. 


IMÂNUS  ALSO  ESCAPES.  39 

Then  he  turned  about,  and,  to  his  utter  stupefaction, 
perceived  that  the  hall  was  empty.  "  Nobody  here  !  " 
he  exclaimed.     "  Not  a  creature  !  " 

Then  he  saw  the  revolving  stone,  and  the  staircase  be- 
yond the  opening.  "  Ah  !  I  understand  !  The  key  to 
the  fields.  Come  up,  all  of  you  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Com- 
rades, come  up  !  They  have  run  away  !  They  have  filed 
off,  dissolved,  evaporated,  cut  their  lucky  !  This  old 
jug  of  a  tower  has  a  crack  in  it.  There  is  the  hole  they 
got  out  by,  the  beggars  !  How  is  anybody  to  get  the 
better  of  Pitt  and  Coburg  while  they  are  able  to  play 
such  comedies  as  this  ?  The  very  devil  himself  came  to 
their  rescue.     There  is  nobody  here  !  " 

The  report  of  a  pistol  cut  his  words  short  :  a  ball 
grazed  his  elbow  and  flattened  itself  against  the  wall. 

"  Aha  !  "  said  he.  "  So  there  is  somebody  left.  Who 
was  good  enough  to  show  me  that  little  politeness  ?  " 

"  I,  "  answered  a  voice. 

Eadoub  looked  about,  and  caught  sight  of  Imânus  in 
the  gloom.  "  Ah  !  "  cried  he.  "  I  have  got  one  at  all 
events.  The  others  have  escaped,  but  you  will  not,  I 
promise  you.  " 

"  Do  you  believe  it  ?  "  retorted  Imânus. 

Eadoub  made  a  step  forward  and  paused.  "  Hey,  you, 
lying  on  the  ground  there  !     Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  man  who  laughs  at  you  who  are  standing  up.  * 

rt  What  is  it  you  are  holding  in  your  right  hand  ?  " 

•  A  pistol.  " 

u  And  in  your  left  hand  ?  " 

"  My  entrails.  " 

"  You  are  my  prisoner.  " 

■  I  defy  you  !  " 

Imânus  bowed  his  head  over  the  burning  wick,  spent 
his  last  breath  in  stirring  the  flame,  and  expired. 

A  few  seconds  after,   Gauvain  and  Cimourdain,  fol- 


£0  NINETY-THREE. 

lowed  by  the  whole  troop  of  soldiers,  were  in  the  hall 
They  all  saw  the  opening.  They  searched  the  corners 
of  the  room  and  explored  the  staircase  ;  it  had  a  passage 
at  the  bottom  which  led  to  the  ravine.  The  besieged 
had  escaped.  They  raised  Xmânus,  —  he  was  dead. 
Gauvain,  lantern  in  hand,  examined  the  stone  which 
had  afforded  an  outlet  to  the  fugitives  :  he  had  heard  of 
the  turning-stone,  but  he  too  had  always  disbelieved 
the  legend.  As  he  looked  he  saw  some  lines  written  in 
pencil  on  the  massive  block;  he  held  the  lantern  closei, 
and  read  these  words  :  — 

"  Au  revoir,  Viscount 
"  Lantenac.  " 

Guéchamp  was  standing  by  his  commandant.  Pur- 
suit was  utterly  useless  ;  the  fugitives  had  the  whole 
country  to  aid  them,  —  thickets,  ravines,  copses,  the  in- 
habitants. Doubtless  they  were  already  far  away.  There 
would  be  no  possibility  of  discovering  them  ;  they  had 
the  entire  forest  of  Fougères,  with  its  countless  hiding- 
places,  for  a  refuge.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  The  whole 
struggle  must  begin  anew.  Gauvain  and  Guéchamp  ex- 
changed conjectures  and  expressions  of  disappointment. 

Gimourdain  listened  gravely,  but  did  not  utter  a  word. 

a  And  the  ladder,  Guéchamp  ?  "  said  Gauvain. 

"  Commandant,  it  has  not  come.  " 

"  But  we  saw  a  wagon  escorted  by  gendarmes.  " 

Guéchamp  only  replied  :  "  It  did  not  bring  the 
ladder.  " 

"  What  did  it  bring,  then  ?  " 

"  The  guillotine,  "  said  Gimourdain. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

FEVER  PUT  A  WATCH  AND  A  KEY  IN  THS 
SAME  POCKET. 

THE  Marquis  de  Lantenac  was  not  so  far  away  as 
they  believed.  But  he  was  none  the  less  in 
safety,  and  completely  out  of  their  reach.  He  had  fol- 
lowed Halmalo. 

The  staircase  by  which  they  descended  in  the  wake  of 
the  other  fugitives  ended  in  a  narrow  vaulted  passage 
close  to  the  ravine  and  the  arches  of  the  bridge.  This  pas- 
sage opened  upon  a  deep  natural  fissure,  which  led  into 
the  ravine  on  one  side  and  into  the  forest  on  the  other. 
The  windings  of  the  path  were  completely  hidden  among 
the  thickets  ;  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  discover 
a  man  concealed  there.  A  fugitive,  once  arrived  at  this 
point,  had  only  to  twist  away  like  a  snake.  The  open- 
ing from  the  staircase  into  the  secret  passage  was  so 
completely  obstructed  by  brambles  that  the  builders  of 
the  passage  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  close  the 
way  in  any  other  manner. 

The  marquis  had  only  to  go  forward  now.  He  was 
not  placed  in  any  difficulty  by  lack  of  a  disguise.  He 
had  not  thrown  aside  his  peasant's  dress  since  coming 
to  Brittany,   thinking  it  more  in  character. 

When  Halmalo  and  the  marquis  passed  out  of  the  pas- 
sage into  the  cleft,  the  five  other  men  —  Guinoiseau, 
Hoisnard  (Branche  d'Or),  Brin  d'Amour,  Chatenay,  and 
the  Abbé  Turmeau  —  were  no  longer  there. 


42  NINETY-THREE. 

"  They  did  not  take  much  time  to  get  away, ,:  said 
Halmalo. 

"  Follow  their  example.  "  returned  the  marquis. 

"  Must  I  leave,  monseigneur  ?  " 

"  Without  doubt.  I  have  already  told  you  so.  Each 
must  escape  alone  to  be  safe.  One  man  passes  where 
two  cannot.  We  should  attract  attention  if  we  were 
together.      You  would  lose  my  life  and  I  yours.  " 

"  Does  Monseigneur  know  the  district  ?  " 

"  Yes.  " 

"  Monseigneur  still  gives  the  rendezvous  for  the  Pierre 
Gauvain  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  —  at  noon.  " 

"  I  shall  be  there.  We  shall  all  be  there.  "  Then 
Halmalo  burst  out  :  "Ah,  monseigneur  !  When  I  think 
that  we  were  together  in  the  open  sea,  that  we  were 
alone,  that  I  wanted  to  kill  you,  that  you  were  my  mas- 
ter, that  you  could  have  told  me  so,  and  that  you  did 
not  speak  !     What  a  man  you  are  !  " 

The  marquis  replied  :  "  England  !  There  is  no  other 
resource.  In  fifteen  days  the  English  must  be  in 
France.  " 

*  I  have  much  to  tell  Monseigneur.  I  obeyed  his 
orders.  " 

"  We  will  talk  of  all  that  to-morrow.  " 

"  Farewell  till  to-morrow,  monseigneur.  " 

"  By-the-way,  are  you  hungry  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  am,  monseigneur.  I  was  in  such  a  hurry 
to  get  here  that  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  have  eaten 
to-day.  " 

The  marquis  took  a  cake  of  chocolate  from  his  pocket, 
broke  it  in  half,  gave  one  piece  to  Halmalo,  and  began 
to  eat  the  other  himself. 

"  Monseigneur,  "  said  Halmalo,  "  at  your  right  is  the 
ravine  ;  at  your  left,  the  forest.  " 


WATCH   AND   KEY   IN  THE   SAME   POCKET.  43 

"  Very  good.      Leave  me.      Go  your  own  way.  " 

Halmalo  obeyed.  He  hurried  off  through  the  dark- 
ness. For  a  few  instants  the  marquis  could  hear  the 
crackling  of  the  underbrush,  then  all  was  still.  By  that 
time  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  track  Halmalo. 
This  forest  of  the  Bocage  was  the  fugitive's  auxiliary. 
He  did  not  flee,  —  he  vanished.  It  was  this  facility  for 
disappearance  which  made  our  armies  hesitate  before 
this  ever-retreating  Vendée,  so  formidable  as  it  fled. 

The  marquis  remained  motionless.  He  was  a  man 
who  forced  himself  to  feel  nothing  ;  but  he  could  not 
restrain  his  emotion  on  breathing  this  free  air,  after 
having  been  so  long  stifled  in  blood  and  carnage.  To 
feel  himself  completely  at  liberty  after  having  seemed 
so  utterly  lost  ;  after  having  seen  the  grave  so  close,  to 
be  swept  so  suddenly  beyond  its  reach  ;  to  come  out  of 
death  back  into  life,  —  it  was  a  shock  even  to  a  man  like 
Lantenac.  Familiar  as  he  was  with  danger,  in  spite  of 
all  the  vicissitudes  he  had  passed  through  he  could  not 
at  first  steady  his  soul  under  this.  He  acknowledged  to 
himself  that  he  was  content.  But  he  quickly  subdued 
this  emotion,  which  was  more  like  joy  than  any  feeling 
he  had  known  for  years.  He  drew  out  his  watch  and 
struck  the  hour.     What  time  was  it? 

To  his  great  astonishment,  the  marquis  found  that  it 
was  only  ten  o'clock.  When  one  has  just  passed  through 
some  terrible  convulsion  of  existence  in  which  every 
hope  and  life  itself  were  at  stake,  one  is  always  as- 
tounded to  find  that  those  awful  minutes  were  no  longer 
than  ordinary  ones.  The  warning  cannon  had  been  fired 
a  little  before  sunset,  and  La  Tourgue  attacked  by  the 
storming-party  half  an  hour  later,  between  seven  and 
eight  o'clock,  — just  as  night  was  falling.  The  colossal 
combat,  begun  at  eight  o'clock,  had  ended  at  ten.  This 
whole  épopée   had  only  taken   a  hundred  and   twenty 


44  NINETY-THREE. 

minutes  to  enact.  Sometimes  catastrophes  sweep  on  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning,  — the  climax  is  overwhelm- 
ing from  its  suddenness.  On  reflection,  the  astonishing 
thing  was  that  the  struggle  could  have  lasted  so  long. 
A  resistance  for  two  hours  of  so  small  a  number  against 
so  large  a  force  was  extraordinary  ;  and  certainly  it  had 
not  been  short  or  quickly  finished,  this  battle  of  nine- 
teen against  four  thousand. 

But  it  was  time  he  should  be  gone.  Halmalo  must 
be  far  away,  and  the  marquis  judged  that  it  would  not 
be  necessary  to  wait  there  longer.  He  put  his  watch 
back  into  his  waistcoat,  but  not  into  the  same  pocket  ; 
for  he  discovered  that  the  key  of  the  iron  door  given  him 
by  Imânus  was  there,  and  the  crystal  might  be  broken 
against  the  key.  Then  he  moved  toward  the  forest  in 
his  turn.  As  he  turned  to  the  left,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
a  faint  gleam  of  light  penetrated  the  darkness  where  he 
stood.  He  walked  back,  and  across  the  underbrush, 
clearly  outlined  against  a  red  background  and  become 
visible  in  their  tiniest  outlines,  he  perceived  a  great 
glare  in  the  ravine  ;  only  a  few  paces  separated  him  from 
it.  He  hurried  forward,  —  then  stopped,  remembering 
what  folly  it  was  to  expose  himself  in  that  light. 
Whatever  might  have  happened,  after  all  it  did  not 
concern  him.  Again  he  set  out  in  the  direction  Hal- 
malo had  indicated,  and  walked  a  little  way  toward  the 
forest. 

Suddenly,  deep  as  he  was  hidden  among  the  brambles, 
he  heard  a  terrible  cry  echo  over  his  head.  This  cry 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  very  edge  of  the  plateau 
which  stretched  above  the  ravine.  The  marquis  raised 
his  eyes  and  stood  still. 


BOOK   V. 

IN  D^MONE  DEUS. 


CHAPTEE   I. 

FOUND,    BUT   LOST. 

AT  the  moment  Michelle  Fléchard  caught  sight  of 
the  tower,  she  was  more  than  a  league  away.  She, 
who  could  scarcely  take  a  step,  did  not  hesitate  before 
these  miles  which  must  be  traversed.  The  woman  was 
weak,  but  the  mother  found  strength.      She  walked  on. 

The  sun  set  ;  the  twilight  came,  then  the  night.  Ah 
ways  pressing  on,  Michelle  heard  a  bell  afar  off,  hidden 
by  the  darkness,  strike  eight  o'clock,  then  nine.  The 
peal  probably  came  from  the  belfry  of  Parigné.  From 
time  to  time  she  paused  to  listen  to  strange  sounds  like 
the  deadened  echo  of  blows,  which  might  perhaps  be 
the  wind  in  the  distance.  She  walked  straight  on, 
breaking  the  furze  and  the  sharp  heath-stems  beneath 
her  bleeding  feet.  She  was  guided  by  a  faint  light 
which  shone  from  the  distant  tower,  defining  its  outlines 
against  the  night,  and  giving  a  mysterious  glow  to  the 
tower  amidst  the  surrounding  gloom.  This  light  be- 
came more  distinct  when  the  noise  sounded  louder,  then 
faded  suddenly. 

The  vast  plateau  across  which  Michelle  Fléchard  jour- 
neyed was  covered  with  grass  and  heath  ;  not  a  house, 


(\ 


46  NINETY-THREE. 

not  a  tree  appeared.  It  rose  gradually,  and,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  stretched  in  a  straight  hard  line 
against  the  sombre  horizon  where  a  few  stars  gleamed. 
She  had  always  the  tower  before  her  eyes  ;  the  sight 
kept  her  strength  from  failing.  She  saw  the  massive 
pile  grow  slowly  as  she  walked  on. 

We  have  just  said  the  smothered  reports  and  the  pale 
gleams  of  light  starting  from  the  tower  were  intermittent  ; 
they  stopped,  then  began  anew,  offering  an  enigma  full 
of  agony  to  the  wretched  mother.  Suddenly  they  ceased  ; 
noise  and  gleams  of  light  both  died.  There  was  a  moment 
of  complete  silence,  — an  ominous  tranquillity. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  Michelle  Fléchard 
reached  the  edge  of  the  plateau.  She  saw  at  her  feet  a 
ravine,  whose  bottom  was  lost  in  the  wan  indistinctness 
of  the  night  ;  also  at  a  little  distance,  on  the  top  of  the 
plateau,  an  entanglement  of  wheels,  metal,  and  harness, 
which  was  a  battery  ;  and  before  her,  confusedly  lighted 
by  the  matches  of  the  cannon,  an  enormous  edifice  that 
seemed  built  of  shadows  blacker  than  the  shadows  which 
surrounded  it.  This  mass  of  buildings  was  composed  of 
a  bridge  whose  arches  were  embedded  in  the  ravine,  and 
of  a  sort  of  castle  which  rose  upon  the  bridge  ;  both 
bridge  and  castle  were  supported  against  a  lofty  circular 
shadow,  —  the  tower  toward  which  this  mother  had 
journeyed  from  so  far.  She  could  see  lights  come  and 
go  in  the  loop-holes  of  the  tower,  and  from  the  noise 
which  surged  up  she  divined  that  it  was  filled  with  a 
crowd  of  men  ;  indeed,  now  and  then  their  gigantic 
shadows  were  flung  out  on  the  night.  Near  the  battery 
was  a  camp,  whose  outposts  she  might  have  perceived 
through  the  gloom  and  the  underbrush,  but  she  had  as 
yet  noticed  nothing.  She  went  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
plateau,  so  near  the  bridge  that  it  seemed  to  her  she 
could  almost  touch  it  with  her  hand.     The  depth  of  the 


FOUND,  BUT  LOST.  47 

ravine  alone  kept  her  from  reaching  it.     She  could  make 
out  in  the  gloom  the  three  stories  of  the  bridge-castle. 

How  long  she  stood  there  Michelle  Fléchard  could  not 
have  told,  for  her  mind,  absorbed  in  her  mute  contem- 
plation of  this  gaping  ravine  and  this  shadowy  edifice, 
took  no  note  of  time.  What  was  this  building  ?  What 
was  going  on  within  ?  Was  it  La  Tourgue  ?  A  strange 
dizziness  seized  her  ;  in  her  confusion  she  could  not  tell 
if  this  were  the  goal  she  had  been  seeking  on  the  start- 
ing-point of  a  terrible  journey.  She  asked  herself  why 
she  was  there.      She  looked  ;  she  listened. 

Suddenly  a  great  blackness  shut  out  every  object.  A 
cloud  of  smoke  swept  up  between  Michelle  and  the  pile 
she  was  watching  ;  a  sharp  report  forced  her  to  close  her 
eyes.  Scarcely  had  she  done  so,  when  a  great  light  red- 
dened the  lids.  She  opened  them  again.  It  was  no 
longer  the  night  she  had  before  her  ;  it  was  the  day,  — ■ 
but  a  fearful  day  '  the  day  born  of  fire  !  She  was  watch- 
ing the  beginning  of  a  conflagration.  From  black  the 
smoke  had  become  scarlet,  filled  with  a  mighty  flame, 
which  appeared  and  disappeared,  writhing  and  twisting 
in  serpentine  coils.  The  flame  burst  out  like  a  tongue 
from  something  which  resembled  blazing  jaws  ;  it  was 
the  embrasure  of  a  window  filled  with  fire.  This  win- 
dow, covered  by  iron  bars,  already  reddening  in  the  heat, 
was  a  casement  in  the  lower  story  of  the  bridge-castle. 
Nothing  of  the  edifice  was  visible  except  this  window. 
The  smoke  covered  even  the  plateau,  leaving  only  the 
mouth  of  the  ravine  black  against  the  vermilion  flames. 

Michelle  Fléchard  stared  in  dumb  wonder.  It  was 
like  a  dream  ;  she  could  no  longer  tell  where  reality 
ended,  and  the  confused  fancies  of  her  poor  troubled 
brain  began.  Ought  she  to  fly  ?  Should  she  remain  1 
There  was  nothing  real  enough  for  any  definite  decision 
to  steady  her  mind.     A  wind  swept  up  and  burst  thô 


48  NINETY-THREE. 

curtain  of  smoke  ;  in  the  opening  the  frowning  bastile 
rose  suddenly  in  view. — donjon,  bridge,  châtelet, — 
dazzling  in  the  terrible  gilding  of  conflagration  which 
framed  it  from  top  to  bottom. 

The  appalling  illumination  showed  Michelle  Fléchard 
every  detail  of  the  ancient  keep.  The  lowest  story  of 
the  castle  built  on  the  bridge  was  burning.  Above  rose 
the  other  two  stories,  still  untouched,  but  as  it  were 
supported  on  a  corbel  of  flames.  From  the  edge  of  the 
plateau  where  Michelle  Fléchard  stood,  she  could  catch 
broken  glimpses  of  the  interior  between  the  clouds  of 
smoke  and  fire.  The  windows  were  all  open.  Through 
the  great  casements  of  the  second  story  she  could  make 
out  the  cupboards  stretched  along  the  walls,  which 
looked  to  her  full  of  books,  and  by  one  of  the  windows 
could  see  a  little  group  lying  on  the  floor,  in  the 
shadow,  indistinct  and  massed  together  like  birds  in  a 
nest,  which  at  times  she  fancied  she  saw  move.  She 
looked  fixedly  in  this  direction.  What  was  that  little 
group  lying  there  in  the  shadow  ?  Sometimes  it  flashed 
across  her  mind  that  those  were  living  forms  ;  but  she 
had  fever  ;  she  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning  ;  she  had 
walked  without  intermission  ;  she  was  utterly  exhausted. 
She  felt  herself  giving  way  to  a  sort  of  hallucination, 
which  she  had  still  reason  enough  to  struggle  against. 
Still,  her  eyes  fixed  themselves  ever  more  steadily  upon 
that  one  point  ;  she  could  not  look  away  from  that  little 
heap  upon  the  floor,  — a  mass  of  inanimate  objects, 
doubtless,  that  had  been  left  in  that  room  below  which 
the  flames  roared  and  billowed. 

Suddenly  the  fire,  as  if  animated  by  a  will  and  pur- 
pose, flung  downward  a  jet  of  flame  toward  the  great 
dead  ivy  which  covered  the  facade  whereat  Michelle 
Fléchard  was  gazing.  It  seemed  as  if  the  fire  had  just 
discovered   this   outwork   of    dried   branches;   a   spark 


FOUND,  BUT  LOST.  49 

darted  greedily  upon  it,  and  a  line  of  flame  spread  up. 
ward  from  twig  to  twig  with  frightful  rapidity.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  it  reached  the  second  story.  As 
they  rose,  the  flames  illuminated  the  chamber  of  the 
first  floor,  and  the  awful  glare  threw  out  in  bold  relief 
the  three  little  creatures  lying  asleep  upon  the  floor.  A 
lovely,  statuesque  group  of  legs  and  arms  interlaced, 
closed  eyes,  and  angelic,  smiling  faces. 

The  mother  recognized  her  children!  She  uttered  a 
terrible  cry.  That  cry  of  indescribable  agony  is  only 
given  to  mothers.  .  No  sound  is  at  once  so  savage  and  so 
touching.  When  a  woman  utters  it,  you  seem  to  hear 
the  yell  of  a  sea-wolf;  when  the  sea-wolf  cries  thus, 
you  seem  to  hear  the  voice  of  a  woman.  This  cry  of 
Michelle  Fléchard  was  a  howl.  Hecuba  howled,  says 
Homer. 

It  was  this  cry  which  reached  the  Marquis  de  Lan- 
tenac.  When  he  heard  it  he  stood  still.  The  marquis 
was  between  the  outlet  of  the  passage  through  which  he 
had  been  guided  by  Halmalo  and  the  ravine.  Across 
the  brambles  which  enclosed  him  he  saw  the  bridge  in 
flames,  and  La  Tourgue  red  with  the  reflection.  Look- 
ing upward  through  the  opening  which  the  branches  left 
above  his  head,  he  perceived  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
plateau  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  gulf,  in  front  of  the 
burning  castle,  in  the  full  light  of  the  conflagration, 
the  haggard,  anguish-stricken  face  of  a  woman  bending 
over  the  depth.  It  was  this  woman  who  had  uttered 
that  cry. 

The  face  was  no  longer  that  of  Michelle  Fléchard  ;  it 
was  a  Gorgon's.  She  was  appalling  in  her  agony;  the 
peasant  woman  was  transformed  into  one  of  the  Eumen- 
ides  ;  this  unknown  villager,  vulgar,  ignorant,  unreason- 
ing, had  risen  suddenly  to  the  epic  grandeur  of  despair. 
Great  sufferings  swell  the  soul  to  gigantic  proportions, 

VOL.  XVIII.  —  4 


50  NINETY-THREE. 

This  was  no  longer  a  simple  mother,  — all  maternity's 
voice  cried  out  through  hers  :  whatever  sums  up  and  be- 
comes a  type  of  humanity  grows  superhuman.  There 
she  towered  on  the  edge  of  that  ravine,  in  front  of  that 
conflagration,  in  presence  of  that  crime,  like  a  power 
from  beyond  the  grave  ;  she  moaned  like  a  wild  beast, 
but  her  attitude  was  that  of  a  goddess  ;  the  mouth, 
which  uttered  imprecations,  was  set  in  a  flaming  mask. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  regal  than  her  eyes  shoot- 
ing lightnings  through  her  tears.  Her  look  blasted  the 
conflagration. 

The  marquis  listened.  The  mother's  voice  flung  its 
echoes  down  upon  his  head,  —  inarticulate,  heart-rend- 
ing ;  sobs  rather  than  words  :  — 

"  Ah,  my  God,  my  children  !  Those  are  my  children  Î 
Help  !  Fire  !  fire  !  fire  !  0  you  brigands  !  Is  there  no 
one  here  ?  My  children  are  burning  up  !  Georgette  ! 
My  babies  !  Gros- Alain  !  Eené-Jean  !  What  does  it 
mean  ?  Who  put  my  children  there  ?  They  are  asleep. 
Oh,  I  am  mad  !     It  is  impossible  !     Help,  help  !  " 

A  great  bustle  and  movement  was  apparent  in  La 
Tourgue  and  upon  the  plateau.  The  whole  camp  rushed 
out  to  the  fire  which  had  just  burst  forth.  The  besiegers, 
after  meeting  the  grape-shot,  had  now  to  deal  with  the 
conflagration.  Gauvain,  Cimourdain,  and  Guéchamp 
were  giving  orders.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Only  a  few 
buckets  of  water  could  be  drained  from  the  half-dried 
brook  of  the  ravine.  The  consternation  increased.  The 
whole  edge  of  the  plateau  was  covered  with  men  whose 
troubled  faces  watched  the  progress  of  the  flames. 
What  they  saw  was  terrible  :  they  gazed,  and  could  do 
nothing. 

The  flames  had  spread  along  the  ivy  and  reached  the 
topmost  story,  leaping  greedily  upon  the  straw  with 
which  it  was  filled.     The  entire  granary  was  burning 


FOUND,  BUT  LOST.  51 

now.  The  flames  wreathed  and  danced  as  if  in  fiendish 
joy.  A  cruel  breeze  fanned  the  pyre.  One  could  fancy 
the  evil  spirit  of  Imânus  urging  on  the  fire,  and  rejoi- 
cing in  the  destruction  which  had  been  his  last  earthly 
crime.  The  library,  though  between  the  two  burning 
stories,  was  not  yet  on  fire  ;  the  height  of  its  ceiling  and 
the  thickness  of  the  walls  retarded  the  fatal  moment; 
but  it  was  fast  approaching.  The  flames  from  below 
licked  the  stones  ;  the  flames  from  above  whirled  down 
to  caress  them  with  the  awful  embrace  of  death  :  be- 
neath, a  cave  of  lava  ;  above,  an  arch  of  embers.  If  the 
floor  fell  first,  the  children  would  be  flung  into  the  lava 
stream;  if  the  ceiling  gave  way,  they  would  be  buried 
beneath  burning  coals. 

The  little  ones  slept  still  ;  across  the  sheets  of  flame 
and  smoke  which  now  hid,  now  exposed  the  casements, 
the  children  were  visible  in  that  fiery  grotto,  within 
that  meteoric  glare,  peaceful,  lovely,  motionless,  like 
three  confident  cherubs  slumbering  in  a  hell.  A  tiger 
might  have  wept  to  see  those  angels  in  that  furnace, 
those  cradles  in  that  tomb. 

And  the  mother  was  wringing  her  hands  :  "  Fire  !  I 
say,  fire  !  Are  they  all  deaf,  that  nobody  comes  ?  They 
are  burning  my  children  !  Come,  come,  you  men  that  I 
see  yonder  !  Oh,  the  days  and  days  that  I  have  hunted, 
—  and  this  is  where  I  find  them  !  Fire  !  Help  !  Three 
angels,  —  to  think  of  three  angels  burning  there  !  What 
have  they  done,  the  innocents  ?  They  shot  me  ;  they  are 
burning  my  little  ones  !  Who  is  it  does  such  things  ? 
Help  !  save  my  children  !  Do  you  not  hear  me  ?  A 
dog,  —  one  would  have  pity  on  a  dog  !  My  children  ! 
my  children  !  They  are  asleep.  0  Georgette,  —  I  see 
her  face  !  Kené- Jean,  Gros- Alain,  —  those  are  their 
names  :  you  may  know  I  am  their  mother.  Oh,  it  is 
horrible  Î    I  have  travelled  days  and  nights  !     Why,  this 


52  NINETY-THREE. 

very  morning  I  talked  of  them  with  a  woman  !  Help, 
help  !  Where  are  those  monsters  ?  Horror,  horror  !  The 
eldest  not  five  years  old,  the  youngest  not  two.  I  can 
see  their  little  bare  legs.  They  are  asleep,  Holy  Virgin  ! 
Heaven  gave  them  to  me,  and  devils  snatch  them  away. 
To  think  how  far  I  have  journeyed  !  My  children,  that 
I  nourished  with  my  milk  !  I,  who  thought  myself 
wretched  because  I  could  not  find  them,  — have  pity  on 
me  !  I  want  my  children  ;  I  must  have  my  children  ! 
And  there  they  are  in  the  fire  !  See,  how  my  poor  feet 
bleed  !  Help  !  It  is  not  possible,  if  there  are  men  on 
the  earth,  that  my  little  ones  will  be  left  to  die  like 
this.  Help!  Murder!  Oh,  such  a  thing  was  never 
seen  !  0  assassins  !  What  is  that  dreadful  house  there  ? 
They  stole  my  children  from  me  in  order  to  kill  them. 
God  of  mercy,  give  me  my  children  !  They  shall  not 
die!  Help!  help!  help!  Oh,  I  shall  curse  Heaven 
itself,   if  they  die  like  that  !  " 

While  the  mother's  awful  supplications  rang  out, 
other'  voices  rose  upon  the  plateau  and  in  the  ravine. 

"A  ladder!" 

"  There  is  no  ladder  !  " 

"Water!" 

"  There  is  no  water  !  " 

"  Up  yonder,  in  the  tower,  on  the  second  story,  there 
is  a  door.  " 

"  It  is  iron.  • 

"  Break  it  in  !  ■ 

"  Impossible  !  " 

And  the  mother,  redoubling  her  agonized  appeals: 
"  Fire  !  Help  !  Hurry,  I  say,  if  you  will  not  kill  me  ! 
My  children,  my  children  !  Oh,  the  horrible  fire  1  Take 
them  out  of  it,  or  throw  me  in  !  " 

In  the  interval  between  these  clamours  the  trium- 
phant crackling  of  the  flames  could  be  heard. 


FOUND,   BUT  LOST.  53 

The  marquis  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  touched 
the  key  of  the  iron  door.  Then,  stooping  again  be- 
neath the  vault  through  which  he  had  escaped,  he 
turned  back  into  the  passage  from  whence  he  had  just 
emerged. 


CHAPTER  IL 

FROM  THE   DOOR   OF   STONE   TO   THE   IRON   DOOR. 

A  WHOLE  army  distracted  by  the  impossibility  of 
giving  aid  ;  four  thousand  men  unable  to  succour 
three  children,  —  such  was  the  situation.  Not  even  a 
ladder  to  be  had  ;  that  sent  from  Javené  had  not  arrived. 
The  flaming  space  widened  like  a  crater  that  opens.  To 
attempt  the  staying  of  the  fire  by  means  of  the  half- 
dried  brook  would  have  been  mad  folly,  —  like  flinging 
a  glass  of  water  on  a  volcano. 

Cimourdain,  Guéchamp,  and  Radoub  had  descended 
into  the  ravine  ;  Gauvain  remounted  to  the  room  in  the 
second  story  of  the  tower,  where  were  the  stone  that 
turned,  the  secret  passage,  and  the  iron  door  leading 
into  the  library.  It  was  there  that  the  sulphur-match 
had  been  lighted  by  Imanus  ;  from  these  the  conflagra- 
tion had  started.  Gauvain  took  with  him  twenty  sap- 
pers. There  was  no  possible  resource  except  to  break 
open  the  iron  door  ;  its  fastenings  were  terribly  secure. 
They  began  by  blows  with  axes.  The  axes  broke.  A 
sapper  said  :  "  Steel  snaps  like  glass  against  that  iron.  " 
The  door  was  made  of  double  sheets  of  wrought -iron, 
bolted  together;  each  sheet  three  fingers  in  thickness. 
They  took  iron  bars  and  tried  to  shake  the  door  beneath 
their  blows  ;  the  bars  broke  *  like  matches  I  "  said  one 
of  the  sappers. 


FROM  THE  DOOR  OF  STONE  TO  THE  IRON  DOOR.        55 

Gauvain  murmured  gloomily  :  "  Nothing  but  a  ball 
eould  open  that  door.  If  we  could  only  get  a  cannon 
up  here  !  " 

"  But  how  to  do  it  ?  "  answered  the  sapper. 

There  was  a  moment  of  consternation.  Those  power- 
less arms  ceased  their  efforts.  Mute,  conquered,  dis- 
mayed, these  men  stood  staring  at  the  immovable  door. 
A  red  reflection  crept  from  beneath  it  ;  behind,  the  con- 
flagration was  each  instant  increasing.  The  frightful 
corpse  of  Imânus  lay  on  the  floor,  —  a  demoniac  victor. 
Only  a  few  moments  more  and  the  whole  bridge-castle 
might  fall  in.  What  could  be  done  ?  There  was  not  a 
hope  left. 

Gauvain,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  turning-stone  and 
the  secret  passage,  cried  furiously  :  "  It  was  by  that  the 
Marquis  de  Lantenac  escaped.  " 

"  And  returns,  "  said  a  voice. 

The  face  of  a  white'-haired  man  appeared  in  the  stone 
frame  of  the  secret  opening.  It  was  the  marquis  ! 
Many  years  had  passed  since  Gauvain  had  seen  that 
face  so  near.  He  recoiled.  The  rest  all  stood  petrified 
with  astonishment. 

The  marquis  held  a  large  key  in  his  hand;  he  cast  a 
haughty  glance  upon  the  sappers  standing  before  him, 
walked  straight  to  the  iron  door,  bent  beneath  the  arch, 
and  put  the  key  in  the  lock.  The  iron  creaked,  the 
door  opened,  revealing  a  gulf  of  flame  ;  the  marquis  en- 
tered it.  He  entered  with  a  firm  step,  his  head  erect. 
The  lookers-on  followed  him  with  their  eyes.  The  mar- 
quis had  scarcely  moved  half  a  dozen  paces  down  the 
blazing  hall  when  the  floor,  undermined  by  the  fire,  gave 
way  beneath  his  feet  and  opened  a  precipice  between 
him  and  the  door.  He  did  not  even  turn  his  head, — he 
walked  steadily  on.  He  disappeared  in  the  smoke. 
Nothing  more  could  be  seen. 


56  NINETY-THREE. 

Had  the  marquis  been  able  to  advance  farther  ?  Had 
a  new  gulf  of  fire  opened  beneath  his  feet  ?  Had  he  only 
succeeded  in  destroying  himself  ?  They  could  not  tell. 
They  had  before  them  only  a  wall  of  smoke  and  flame, 
The  marquis  was  beyond  that,  living  or  dead. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHEKE   WE   SEE   THE   CHILDREN   WAKE   THAT   WE   SAW 
GO   ASLEEP. 

'T^HE  little  ones  opened  their  eyes  at  last.     The  con 
-*-      flagration  had  not  yet  entered  the  library,  but  it 
cast  a  rosy  glow  across  the  ceiling.      The  children  had 
never  seen  an  aurora  like  that  ;  they  watched  it.      Geor- 
gette was  in  ecstasies. 

The  conflagration  unfurled  all  its  splendours  ;  the 
black  hydra  and  the  scarlet  dragon  appeared  amidst  the 
wreathing  smoke  in  awful  darkness  and  gorgeous  ver- 
milion. Long  streaks  of  flame  shot  far  out  and  illumi- 
nated the  shadows,  like  opposing  comets  pursuing  one 
another.  Fire  is  recklessly  prodigal  with  its  treasures-; 
its  furnaces  are  filled  with  gems  which  it  flings  to  the 
winds  ;  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  charcoal  is  identical 
with  the  diamond.  Fissures  had  opened  in  the  wall  of 
the  upper  story,  through  which  the  embers  poured  like 
cascades  of  jewels  ;  the  heaps  of  straw  and  oats  burning 
in  the  granary  began  to  stream  out  of  the  windows  in 
an  avalanche  of  golden  rain,  the  oats  turning  to  ame- 
thysts and  the  straw  to  carbuncles. 

"  Pretty  !  "  said  Georgette. 

They  all  three  raised  themselves. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  mother.      "  They  have  wakened  !  M 

René- Jean  got  up,  then  Gros-Alain,  and  Georgette 
followed.  René-Jean  stretched  his  arms  toward  the 
window  and  said,   "  I  am  warm.  " 


58  NINETY-THREE. 

"  Me  warm,     cooed  Georgette. 

The  mother  shrieked  :  "  My  children  î  René  !  Alain  ! 
Georgette  !  " 

The  little  ones  looked  about.  They  strove  to  com- 
prehend. When  men  are  frightened,  children  are  only 
curious.  He  who  is  easily  astonished  is  difficult  to 
alarm  ;  ignorance  is  intrepidity.  Children  have  so  little 
claim  to  purgatory  that  if  they  saw  it  they  would 
admire. 

The  mother  repeated  :  "  René  !     Alain  !     Georgette  !  " 

René- Jean  turned  his  head;  that  voice  roused  him 
from  his  reverie.  Children  have  short  memories,  but 
their  recollections  are  swift  ;  the  whole  past  is  yester- 
day to  them.  René-Jean  saw  his  mother;  found  that 
perfectly  natural  ;  and  feeling  a  vague  want  of  support 
in  the  midst  of  those  strange  surroundings,  he  called 
"  Mamma  !  " 

"  Mamma  !  "  said  Gros-Alain. 

"M'ma!"  said  Georgette.  And  she  held  out  her 
little  arms. 

"  My  children  !  "   shrieked  the  mother. 

All  three  went  close  to  the  window-ledge  ;  fortunately 
the  fire  was  not  on  that  side. 

"I  am  too  warm,"  said  René- Jean.  He  .added,  "It 
burns.  "  Then  his  eyes  sought  the  mother.  "  Come 
here,   mamma  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Turn,  m'ma,"  repeated  Georgette. 

The  mother,  with  her  hair  streaming  about  her  face, 
her  garments  torn,  her  feet  and  hands  bleeding,  let 
herself  roll  from  bush  to  bush  down  into  the  ravine 
Cimourdain  and  Guéchamp  were  there,  as  powerless  as 
Gauvain  was  above.  The  soldiers,  desperate  at  being 
able  to  do  nothing,  swarmed  about.  The  heat  was  in 
supportable,  but  nobody  felt  it.  They  looked  at  th 
bridge,  the  height  of  the  arches,  the  different  stories  of 


CHILDREN  WAKE  THAT  WE  SAW  GO  ASLEEP.  59 

the  castle,  —  the  inaccessible  windows.  Help  to  be  of 
any  avail  must  come  at  once.  Three  stories  to  climb  ; 
no  way  of  doing  it  ! 

Radoub,  wounded,  with  a  sabre-cut  on  his  shoulder 
and  one  ear  torn  off,  rushed  forward  dripping  with  sweat 
and  blood.  He  saw  Michelle  Fléehard.  "  Hold  !  "  cried 
he.  "  The  woman  that  was  shot !  So  you  have  come  to 
life  again  ?  " 

"  My  children  !  "  groaned  the  mother. 

u  You  are  right,  "  answered  Radoub  ;  "  we  have  no  time 
to  occupy  ourselves  about  ghosts.  "  He  attempted  to 
climb  the  bridge,  but  in  vain  ;  he  dug  his  nails  in  be- 
tween the  stones  and  clung  there  for  a  few  seconds,  but 
the  layers  were  as  smoothly  joined  as  if  the  wall  had 
been  new;  Radoub  fell  back. 

The  conflagration  swept  on,  each  instant  growing  more 
terrible.  They  could  see  the  heads  of  the  three  children 
framed  in  the  red  light  of  the  window.  In  his  frenzy 
Radoub  shook  his  clinched  hand  at  the  sky,  and  shouted, 
"  Is  there  no  mercy  yonder  ?  " 

The  mother,  on  her  knees,  clung  to  one  of  the  piers, 
crying,  "  Mercy,  mercy  !  " 

The  hollow  sound  of  cracking  timbers  rose  above  the 
roar  of  the  flames.  The  panes  of  glass  in  the  book-cases 
of  the  library  cracked  and  fell  with  a  crash.  It  was 
evident  that  the  timber- work  had  given  way.  Human 
strength  could  do  nothing.  Another  moment  and  the 
whole  would  fall.  The  soldiers  only  waited  for  the  final 
catastrophe.  They  could  hear  the  little  voices  repeat, 
"  Mamma  !  mamma  !  "  The  whole  crowd  was  paralyzed 
with  horror! 

Suddenly,  at  the  casement  near  that  where  the  chil- 
dren stood,  a  tall  form  appeared  against  the  crimson 
background  of  the  flames.  Every  head  was  raised,  every 
eye  fixed.      A  man   was   above   there,  —  a   man   in   the 


60  NINETY-THKEE. 

library,  in  the  furnace  !  The  face  showed  black  against 
the  flames,  but  they  could  see  the  white  hair;  they  rec- 
ognized the  Marquis  de  Lantenac.  He  disappeared,  then 
appeared  again.  The  indomitable  old  man  stood  in  the 
window  shoving  out  an  enormous  ladder.  It  was  the 
escape-ladder  deposited  in  the  library  ;  he  had  seen  it 
lying  upon  the  floor  and  dragged  it  to  the  window. 
He  held  it  by  one  end  ;  with  the  marvellous  agility  of 
an  athlete  he  slipped  it  out  of  the  casement,  and  slid 
it  along  the  wall  d@wn  into  the  ravine. 

Eadoub  folded  his  arms  about  the  ladder  as  it  de- 
scended within  his  reach,  crying,  "  Long  live  the 
Eepublic!" 

The  marquis  shouted,  "  Long  live  the  King  !  " 

Eadoub  muttered  :  "  You  may  cry  what  you  like,  and 
talk  nonsense  if  you  please,  you  are  an  angel  of  mercy 
all  the  same.  " 

The  ladder  was  settled  in  place,  and  communication 
established  between  the  burning  floor  and  the  ground. 
Twenty  men  rushed  up,  Eadoub  at  their  head,  and  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  they  were  hanging  to  the  rungs 
from  the  top  to  the  bottom,  making  a  human  ladder. 
He  had  his  face  turned  toward  the  conflagration.  The 
little  army  scattered  among  the  heath  and  along  the 
sides  of  the  ravine  pressed  forward,  overcome  by  con- 
tending emotions,  upon  the  plateau,  into  the  ravine,  out 
on  the  platform  of  the  tower. 

The  marquis  disappeared  again,  then  reappeared  bear- 
ing a  child  in  his  arms.  There  was  a  tremendous  clap- 
ping of  hands.  The  marquis  had  seized  the  first  little 
one  that  he  found  within  reach.      It  was  Gros-AIaiu. 

Gros-Alain  cried,  "  I  am  afraid.  " 

The  marquis  gave  the  boy  to  Eadoub  ;  Eadoub  passed 
him  on  to  the  soldier  behind,  who  passed  him  to  an- 
other;  and  just  as  Gros-Alain,  greatly  frightened  and 


CHILDREN  WAKE  THAT  WE  SAW  GO  ASLEEP.  61 

sobbing  loudly,  was  given  from  hand  to  hand  to  the 
bottom  of  the  ladder,  the  marquis,  who  had  been  absent 
for  a  moment,  returned  to  the  window  with  Eené-Jean» 
who  struggled  and  wept  and  beat  Eadoub  with  his  little 
fists  as  the  marquis  passed  him  on  to  the  sergeant. 

The  marquis  went  back  into  the  chamber  that  was 
now  filled  with  flames.  Georgette  was  there  alone.  He 
went  up  to  her.  She  smiled.  This  man  of  granite  felt 
his  eyelids  grow  moist.  He  asked,  "  What  is  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Orgette,  "  said  she. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  :  she  was  still  smiling,  and 
at  the  instant  he  handed  her  to  Eadoub,  that  conscience, 
so  lofty  and  yet  so  darkened,  was  dazzled  by  the  beauty 
of  innocence  :  the  old  man  kissed  the  child. 

"  It  is  the  little  girl  !  "  said  the  soldiers  ;  and  Geor- 
gette in  her  turn  descended  from  arm  to  arm  till  she 
reached  the  ground,  amidst  cries  of  exultation.  They 
clapped  their  hands  ;  they  leaped  ;  the  old  grenadiers 
sobbed,   and  she  smiled  at  them. 

The  mother  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  breathless, 
mad,  intoxicated  by  this  change,  —  flung,  without  tran- 
sition, from  hell  into  paradise.  Excess  of  joy  lacerates 
the  heart  in  its  own  way.  She  extended  her  arms  ;  she 
received  first  Gros-Alain,  then  Eené-Jean,  then  Geor- 
gette. She  covered  them  with  frantic  kisses,  then  burst 
into  a  wild  laugh  and  fainted. 

A  great  cry  rose  :  "  They  are  all  saved.  * 

All  were  indeed  saved,  except  the  old  man.  But  no 
one  thought  of  him,  —  not  even  he  himself,  perhaps. 
He  remained  for  a  few  instants  leaning  against  the  win- 
dow-ledge lost  in  a  reverie,  as  if  he  wished  to  leave  the 
gulf  of  flames  time  to  make  a  decision.  Then,  without 
the  least  haste,  slowly  indeed  and  proudly,  he  stepped 
over  the  window-sill,  and  erect,  upright,  his  shoulders 


62  NINETY-THREE. 

against  the  rungs,  having  the  coDfiagration  at  his  back, 
the  depth  before  him,  he  began  to  descend  the  ladder  in 
silence,  with  the  majesty  of  a  phantom. 

The  men  who  were  on  the  ladder  sprang  off;  every 
witness  shuddered.  About  this  man  thus  descending 
from  that  height  there  was  a  sacred  horror  as  about  a 
vision  ;  but  he  plunged  calmly  into  the  darkness  before 
him.  They  recoiled  ;  he  drew  nearer  them.  The  mar- 
ble pallor  of  his  face  showed  no  emotion  ;  his  haughty 
eyes  were  calm  and  cold.  At  each  step  he  made  toward 
those  men  whose  wondering  eyes  gazed  upon  him  out  of 
the  darkness,  he  seemed  to  tower  higher;  the  ladder 
shook  and  echoed  under  his  firm  tread .  one  might  have 
thought  him  the  statue  of  the  "  Commendatore  "  descend- 
ing anew  into  his  sepulchre. 

As  the  marquis  reached  the  bottom,  and  his  foot  left 
the  last  rung  and  planted  itself  on  the  ground,  a  hand 
seized  his  shoulder.     He  turned  about. 

"  I  arrest  you,  "  said  Cimourdain. 

"  I  approve  of  what  you  do,  "  said  Lantenec. 


BOOK    VI 

AFTER   THE  VICTORY  THE   COMBAT  BEGINS, 


CHAPTER    I. 

LANTENAC  TAKEN. 

*T*HE  marquis  had  indeed  descended  into  the  tomb. 

**■       He  was  led  away. 

The  crypt  dungeon  of  the  ground-floor  of  La  Tourgue 
was  immediately  opened  under  Cimourdain's  lynx-eyed 
superintendence.  A  lamp  was  placed  within,  a  jug  of 
water  and  a  loaf  of  soldier's  bread  ;  a  bundle  of  straw 
was  flung  on  the  ground,  and  in  less  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  from  the  instant  when  the  priest's  hand  seized 
Lantenac  the  door  of  the  dungeon  closed  upon  him. 
This  done,  Cimourdain  went  to  find  Gauvain;  at  that 
instant  eleven  o'clock  sounded  from  the  distant  church- 
clock  of  Parigné. 

Cimourdain  said  to  his  former  pupil  :  "  I  am  going  to 
convoke  a  court-martial  ;  you  will  not  be  there.  You 
are  a  Gauvain,  and  Lantenac  is  a  Gauvain.  You  are  too 
near  a  kinsman  to  be  his  judge;  I  blame  Egalité  for 
having  voted  upon  Capet's  sentence.  The  court-martial 
will  be  composed  of  three  judges,  —  an  officer,  Captain 
Guéchamp  ;  a  non-commissioned  officer,  Sergeant  Radoub  ; 
and  myself.  I  shall  preside.  Nothing  of  all  this  con- 
cerns you  any  longer.  We  will  conform  to  the  decree 
of  the  Convention  ;  we  will  confine  ourselves  to  proving 


64  NINETY-THREE. 

the  identity  of  the  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Lantenae.  To- 
morrow the  court-martial  ;  day  after  to-morrow  the  guil- 
lotine.     The  Vendée  is  dead.  " 

Gauvain  did  not  answer  a  word,  and  Cimourdain,  pre- 
occupied by  the  final  task  which  remained  for  him  to 
fulfil,  left  the  young  man  alone.  Cimourdain  had  to 
decide  upon  the  hour,  and  choose  the  place.  He  had  — 
like  Lequinio  at  Granville,  like  Tallien  at  Bordeaux, 
like  Châlier  at  Lyons,  like  Saint-Just  at  Strasbourg  — 
the  habit  of  assisting  personally  at  executions  ;  it  was 
considered  a  good  example  for  the  judge  to  come  and 
see  the  headsman  do  his  work,  —a  custom  borrowed  by 
the  Terror  of  '93  from  the  parliaments  of  France  and 
the  Inquisition  of  Spain. 

Gauvain  also  was  preoccupied.  A  cold  wind  moaned 
up  from  the.  forest.  Gauvain  left  Guéchamp  to  give  the 
necessary  orders,  went  to  his  tent  in  the  meadow  which 
stretched  along  the  edge  of  the  wood  at  the  foot  of  La 
Tourgue,  took  his  hooded  cloak  and  enveloped  himself 
therein.  This  cloak  was  bordered  with  the  simple 
galoon  which,  according  to  the  republican  custom 
(chary  of  ornament),  designated  the  commander-in-chief. 
He  began  to  walk  about  in  this  bloody  field  where  the 
attack  had  begun.  He  was  alone  there.  The  fire  still 
continued,  but  no  one  any  longer  paid  attention  to  it. 
Radoub  was  beside  the  children  and  their  mother,  al- 
most as  maternal  as  she.  The  bridge-castle  was  nearly 
consumed  ;  the  sappers  hastened  the  destruction.  The 
soldiers  were  digging  trenches  in  order  to  bury  the  dead  ; 
the  wounded  were  being  cared  for  ;  the  retirade  had  been 
demolished  ;  the  chambers  and  stairs  disencumbered  of 
the  dead  ;  the  soldiers  were  cleansing  the  scene  of  car- 
nage, sweeping  away  the  terrible  rubbish  of  the  victory, 
—  with  true  military  rapidity  setting  everything  in 
order  after  the  battle. 


LANTENAC  TAKEN.  65 

Gauvain  saw  nothing  of  all  this.  So  profound  was 
his  reverie  that  he  scarcely  cast  a  glance  toward  the 
guard  about  the  tower,  doubled  by  the  orders  of  Cimour- 
dain.  He  could  distinguish  the  breach  through  the  ob- 
scurity, perhaps  two  hundred  feet  away  from  the  corner 
of  the  held  where  he  had  taken  refuge.  He  could  see 
the  black  opening.  It  was  there  the  attack  had  begun 
three  hours  before;  it  was  by  this  dark  gap  that  he 
(Gauvain)  had  penetrated  into  the  tower  ;  there  was  the 
ground-floor  where  the  retirade  had  stood  ;  it  was  on 
that  same  floor  that  the  door  of  the  marquis's  prison 
opened.  The  guard  at  the  breach  watched  this  dun- 
geon. While  his  eyes  were  absently  fixed  upon  the 
heath,  in  his  ear  rang  confusedly,  like  the  echo  of  a 
knell,  these  words  :  "  To-morrow  the  court-martial  ;  day 
after  to-morrow,  the  guillotine.  " 

The  conflagration,  which  had  been  isolated,  and  upon 
which  the  sappers  had  thrown  all  the  water  that  could 
be  procured,  did  not  die  away  without  resistance  ;  it 
still  cast  out  intermittent  flames.  At  moments  the 
cracking  of  the  ceilings  could  be  heard,  and  the  crash 
one  upon  another  of  the  different  stories  as  they  fell  in 
a  common  ruin  ;  then  a  whirlwind  of  sparks  would  fly 
through  the  air,  as  if  a  gigantic  torch  had  been  shaken  ; 
a  glare  like  lightning  illuminated  the  farthest  verge  of 
the  horizon,  and  the  shadow  of  La  Tourgue,  growing 
suddenly  colossal,  spread  out  to  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

Gauvain  walked  slowly  to  and  fro  amidst  the  gloom 
in  front  of  the  breach.  At  intervals  he  clasped  his  two 
hands  at  the  back  of  his  head,  covered  with  his  soldier's 
hood.     He  was  thinking. 

vol.  aroo.  —  6 


CHAPTER  IL 

GAUVAIN'S   SELF-QUESTIONING. 

FTIS  reverie  was  fathomless.  A  seemingly  impossi- 
■*■  ■*■  ble  change  had  taken  place.  The  Marquis  de 
Lantenac  had  been  transfigured. 

Gauvain  had  been  a  witness  of  this  transfiguration. 
He  would  never  have  believed  that  such  a  state  of  affairs 
would  arrive  from  any  complication  of  events,  whatever 
they  might  be.  Never  would  he  have  imagined,  even 
in  a  dream,  that  anything  similar  would  be  possible. 
The  unexpected  —  that  inexplicable  power  which  plays 
with  man  at  will  —  had  seized  Gauvain,  and  held  him 
fast.  He  had  before  him  the  impossible  become  a  real- 
ity, visible,  palpable,  inevitable,  inexorable.  What  did 
he  think  of  it  —  he,  Gauvain?  There  was  no  chance  of 
evasion  ;  the  decision  must  be  made.  A  question  was 
put  to  him  ;  he  could  not  avoid  it.  Put  by  whom  ?  By 
events.  And  not  alone  by  events  ;  for  when  events, 
which  are  mutable,  address  a  question  to  our  souls, 
Justice,  which  is  unchangeable,  summons  us  to  reply. 
Above  the  cloud  which  casts  its  shadow  upon  us  is  the 
star  that  sends  toward  us  its  light.  We  can  no  more 
escape  from  the  light  than  from  the  shadow. 

Gauvain  was  undergoing  an  interrogatory.  He  had 
been  arraigned  before  a  judge  :  before  a  terrible  judge, 
—  his  conscience.  Gauvain  felt  every  power  of  his  soul 
vacillate.  His  resolutions  the  most  solid,  his  promises 
the  most  piously  uttered,  his  decisions  the  most  irrevo- 


GAUVAIN'S  SELF-QUESTIONING.  67 

cable,  all  tottered  in  this  terrible  overwhelming  of  his 
will.  There  are  moral  earthquakes.  The  more  he  re- 
fleeted  upon  that  which  he  had  lately  seen,  the  more 
confused  he  became.  Gauvain,  republican,  believed 
himself,  and  was,  just.  A  higher  justice  had  revealed 
itself.  Above  the  justice  of  revolutions  is  that  of  hu- 
manity. What  had  happened  could  not  be  eluded  ;  the 
case  was  grave  ;  Gauvain  made  part  of  it  ;  he  could  not 
withdraw  himself  ;  and  although  Cimourdain  had  said 
"  It  concerns  you  no  further,  "  he  felt  within  his  sou] 
the  pang  which  a  tree  may  feel  when  torn  upward  from 
its  roots. 

Every  man  has  a  basis;  a  disturbance  of  this  base 
causes  a  profound  trouble  ;  it  was  what  Gauvain  now 
felt.  He  pressed  his  head  between  his  two  hands, 
searching  for  the  truth.  To  state  clearly  a  situation 
like  his  is  not  easy  ;  nothing  could  be  more  painful. 
He  had  before  him  the  formidable  ciphers  which  he 
must  sum  up  into  a  total;  to  judge  a  human  destiny  by 
mathematical  rules.  His  head  whirled.  He  tried  ;  he 
endeavoured  to  consider  the  matter;  he  forced  himself 
to  collect  his  ideas,  to  discipline  the  resistance  which 
he  felt  within  himself,  and  to  recapitulate  the  facts. 
He  set  them  all  before  his  mind. 

To  whom  has  it  not  arrived  to  make  such  a  report, 
and  to  interrogate  himself  in  some  supreme  circum- 
stances upon  the  route  which  must  be  followed,  — 
whether  to  advance  or  retreat? 

Gauvain  had  just  been  witness  of  a  miracle.  Before 
the  earthly  combat  had  fairly  ended,  there  came  a  celes- 
tial struggle,  —  the  conflict  of  good  against  evil.  A 
'heart  of  adamant  had  been  conquered.  Given  the  man 
with  all  that  he  had  of  evil  within  him,  violence,  error, 
blindness,  unwholesome  obstinacy,  pride,  egotism,  — 
Gauvain  had  just  witnessed  a  miracle:   the  victory  oJ 


08  NINETY-THREE. 

humanity  over  the  man.  Humanity  had  conquered  the 
inhuman.  And  by  what  means  ;  in  what  manner  ? 
How  had  it  been  able  to  overthrow  that  colossus  of 
wrath  and  hatred  ?  What  arms  had  it  employed  ;  what 
implement  of  war?     The  cradle! 

Gauvain  had  been  dazzled.  In  the  midst  of  social 
war,  in  the  very  blaze  of  all  hatreds  and  all  vengeances, 
at  the  darkest  and  most  furious  moment  of  the  tumult, 
at  the  hour  when  crime  gave  all  its  fires,  and  hate  all  its 
blackness, —  at  that  instant  of  conflict,  when  every  sen- 
timent becomes  a  projectile  ;  when  the  mêlée  is  so  fierce 
that  one  no  longer  knows  what  is  justice,  honesty,  or 
truth,  —  suddenly  the  Unknown  (mysterious  warner  of 
souls)  sent  the  grand  rays  of  eternal  truth  resplendent 
across  human  light  and  darkness.  Above  that  sombre 
duel  between  the  false  and  the  relatively  true,  there,  in 
the  depths,  the  face  of  truth  itself  abruptly  appeared. 
Suddenly  the  force  of  the  feeble  had  interposed.  He 
had  seen  three  poor  creatures,  almost  new  born,  unreason- 
ing, abandoned,  orphans,  alone,  lisping,  smiling  ;  having 
against  them  civil  war,  retaliation,  the  horrible  logic  of 
reprisals,  murder,  carnage,  fratricide,  rage,  hatred,  all 
the  Gordons,  —  he  had  seen  them  triumph  against  those 
powers.  He  had  seen  the  defeat  and  extinction  of  a 
horrible  conflagration  that  had  been  charged  to  commit 
a  crime;  he  had  seen  atrocious  premeditations  discon. 
certed  and  brought  to  naught  ;  he  had  seen  ancient  feu- 
dal ferocity,  inexorable  disdain,  professed  experiences 
of  the  necessities  of  war,  reasons  of  State,  all  the  arro- 
gant resolves  of  a  savage  old  age,  vanish  before  the  clear 
gaze  of  those  who  had  not  yet  lived.  And  this  was 
natural  ;  for  he  who  has  not  yet  lived  has  dore  no  evil  : 
he  is  justice,  truth,  purity  ;  and  the  highest  angels  of 
heaven  hover  about  those  souls  of  little  children. 

A  useful  spectacle,  a  counsel,  a  lesson.     The  mad* 


GAUVAIN'S  SELF-QUESTIONING.  69 

dened,  merciless  combatants,  in  face  of  all  the  projects, 
all  the  outrages  of  war,  fanaticism,  assassination,  re- 
venge kindling  the  fagots,  death  coming  torch  in  hand, 
had  suddenly  seen  all-powerful  Innocence  raise  itself 
above  this  enormous  legion  of  crimes.  And  Innocence 
had  conquered.  One  could  say  :  No,  civil  war  does  not 
exist  ;  barbarism  does  not  exist  ;  hatred  does  not  exist  ; 
crime  does  not  exist  ;  darkness  does  not  exist.  To  scat- 
ter these  spectres  it  only  needed  that  divine  aurora,  -^ 
innocence.  Never  in  any  conflict  had  Satan  and  God 
been  more  plainly  visible. 

This  conflict  had  a  human  conscience  for  its  arena. 
The  conscience  of  Lantenac.  Now  the  battle  began 
again  —  more  desperate,  more  decisive  still  perhaps  — 
in  another  conscience,  —  the  conscience  of  Gauvain. 

What  a  battle-ground  is  the  soul  of  man  !  We  are 
given  up  to  those  gods,  those  monsters,  those  giants,  - — 
our  thoughts.  Often  these  terrible  belligerents  trample 
our  very  souls  down  in  their  mad  conflict. 

Gauvain  meditated.  The  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  sur- 
rounded, doomed,  condemned,  outlawed;  shut  in  like 
the  wild  beast  in  the  circus,  held  like  a  nail  in  the  pin- 
cers, enclosed  in  his  refuge  become  his  prison,  bound  on 
every  side  by  a  wall  of  iron  and  fire,  —  had  succeeded  in 
stealing  away.  He  had  performed  a  miracle  in  escap- 
ing; he  had  accomplished  that  masterpiece, —  the  most 
difficult  of  all  in  such  a  war,  —  flight.  He  had  again 
taken  possession  of  the  forest,  to  intrench  himself  there- 
in; of  the  district,  to  fight  there;  of  the  shadow,  to 
disappear  within  it.  He  had  once  more  become  the 
formidable,  the  dangerous  wanderer,  the  captain  of  the 
invincibles  the  chief  of  the  underground  forces,  the  mas- 
ter of  the  woods.  Gauvain  had  the  victory,  but  Lante- 
nac had  his  liberty.  Henceforth  Lantenac  had  security 
before  him,  limitless  freedom,  an  inexhaustible  choice 


70  NINETY-THREE. 

of  asylums.  He  was  indiscernible,  unapproachable,  in- 
accessible. The  lion  had  been  taken  in  the  snare,  and 
had  broken  through. 

Well,  he  had  re-entered  it.  The  Marquis  de  Lantenac 
had  voluntarily,  spontaneously,  by  his  own  free  act,  left 
the  forest,  the  shadow,  security,  liberty,  to  return  U 
that  horrible  peril  :  intrepid  when  Gauvain  saw  him  the 
first  time  plunge  into  the  conflagration  at  the  risk  of 
being  ingulfed  therein  ;  intrepid  a  second  time,  when 
he  descended  that  ladder  which  delivered  him  to  his 
enemies,  —  a  ladder  of  escape  to  others,  of  perdition  to 
him.  And  why  had  he  thus  acted  ?  To  save  three 
children.  And  now  what  was  it  they  were  about  to  do 
to  this  man  ?  Guillotine  him.  Had  these  three  chil- 
dren been  his  own  ?  No.  Of  his  family  ?  No.  Of  his 
rank  ?  No.  For  three  little  beggars  —  chance  children, 
foundlings,  unknown,  ragged,  barefooted  —  this  noble, 
this  prince,  this  old  man,  free,  safe,  triumphant  (for 
evasion  is  a  triumph),  had  risked  all,  compromised  all, 
lost  all;  and  at  the  same  time  he  restored  the  babes, 
had  proudly  brought  his  own  head,  —  and  this  head, 
hitherto  terrible,  but  now  august,  he  offered  to  his  foes. 
And  what  were  they  about  to  do  ?    Accept  the  sacrifice. 

The  Marquis  de  Lantenac  had  had  the  choice  between 
the  life  of  others  and  his  own  :  in  this  superb  option  he 
had  chosen  death.  And  it  was  to  be  granted  him  ;  he 
was  to  be  killed.  What  a  reward  for  heroism  !  Ee- 
spond  to  a  generous  act  by  a  barbarous  one  !  What  a 
degrading  of  the  Eevolution,  what  a  belittling  of  the 
Eepublic  !  As  this  man  of  prejudice  and  servitude, 
suddanly  transformed,  returned  into  the  circle  of  hu- 
manity, the  men  who  strove  for  deliverance  and  freedom 
elected  to  cling  to  the  horrors  of  civil  war,  to  the  rou- 
tine of  blood,  to  fratricide  !  The  divine  law  of  forgive- 
ess,   abnegation,  redemption,   sacrifice,  existed  for  the 


GAUVAIN'S  SELF-QUESTIONING.  71 

combatants  of  error,  and  did  not  exist  for  the  soldiers 
of  truth  !  What  !  Not  to  make  a  struggle  in  magna- 
nimity :  resign  themselves  to  this  defeat  ?  They,  the 
stronger,  to  show  themselves  the  weaker;  they,  victo- 
rious, to  become  assassins,  and  cause  it  to  be  said  that 
there  were  those  on  the  side  of  monarchy  who  saved 
children,  and  those  on  the  side  of  the  Eepublic  whc 
slew  old  men  ? 

The  world  would  see  this  great  soldier,  this  powerful 
octogenarian,  this  disarmed  warrior,  —  stolen  rather 
than  captured,  seized  in  the  performance  of  a  good  ac- 
tion ;  seized  by  his  own  permission,  with  the  sweat  of  a 
noble  devotion  still  upon  his  brow, —  mount  the  steps  of 
the  scaffold  as  he  would  mount  to  the  grandeur  of  an 
apotheosis  !  And  they  would  put  beneath  the  knife  that 
head  about  which  w^ould  circle,  as  suppliants,  the  souls 
of  the  three  little  angels  he  had  saved  !  And  before  this 
punishment  —  infamous  for  the  butchers  —  a  smile 
would  be  seen  on  the  face  of  that  man,  and  the  blush  of 
shame  on  the  face  of  the  Eepublic  !  And  this  would  be 
accomplished  in  the  presence  of  Gauvain,  the  chief. 
And  he  who  might  hinder  this  would  abstain.  He 
would  rest  content  under  that  haughty  absolution,  "  This 
concerns  thee  no  longer.  "  And  he  was  not  even  to  say 
to  himself  that  in  such  a  case  abdication  of  authority 
was  complicity!  He  was  not  to  perceive  that  of  two 
men  engaged  in  an  action  so  hideous,  he  who  permits 
the  thing  is  worse  than  the  man  who  does  the  work,  be- 
cause he  is  the  coward! 

But  this  death,  —  had  he,  Gauvain,  not  promised  it  ? 
Had  not  he,  the  merciful,  declared  that  Lantenac  should 
have  no  mercy  ;  that  he  would  himself  deliver  Lantenac 
to  Cimourdain  ?  That  head,  —  he  owed  it.  Well,  he 
would  pay  the  debt;  so  be  it.  But  was  it,  indeed,  the 
same  head. 


72  NINETY-THREE. 

Hitherto  Gauvain  had  seen  in  Lantenac  only  the  bar- 
foarous  warrior,  the  fanatic  of  royalty  and  feudalism,  the 
slaughterer  of  prisoners,  an  assassin  whom  war  had  let 
loose,  a  man  of  blood.  That  man  he  had  not  feared  ;  he 
had  proscribed  that  proscriber  :  the  implacable  would 
have  found  him  inexorable.  Nothing  more  simple  :  the 
road  was  marked  out  and  terribly  plain  to  follow  ;  every- 
thing foreseen  :  those  who  killed  must  be  killed  ;  the 
path  of  horror  was  clear  and  straight.  Unexpectedly 
that  straight  line  had  been  broken  ;  a  sudden  turn  in 
the  way  revealed  a  new  horizon  ;  a  metamorphosis  had 
taken  place.  An  unknown  Lantenac  entered  upon  the 
scene.  A  hero  sprang  up  from  the  monster  :  more  than 
a  hero, —  a  man;  more  than  a  soul,  —  a  heart.  It  was  no 
longer  a  murderer  that  Gauvain  had  before  him,  but  a 
saviour.  Gauvain  was  flung  to  the  earth  by  a  flood  of 
celestial  radiance.  Lantenac  had  struck  him  with  the 
thunder-bolt  of  generosity. 

And  Lantenac  transfigured  could  not  transfigure  Gau- 
vain !  What  !  Was  this  stroke  of  light  to  produce  no 
counter-stroke  ?  Was  the  man  of  the  Past  to  push  on 
in  front,  and  the  man  of  the  Future  to  fall  back  ?  Was 
the  man  of  barbarism  and  superstition  suddenly  to 
unfold  angel  pinions,  and  soar  aloft  to  watch  the  man 
of  the  ideal  crawl  beneath  him  in  the  mire  and  the 
night  ?  Gauvain  to  lie  wallowing  in  the  blood-stained 
rut  of  the  past,  while  Lantenac  rose  to  a  new  existence 
in  the  sublime  future  ? 

Another  thing  still.  Their  family!  This  blood 
which  he  was  about  to  spill,  —  for  to  let  it  be  spilled 
was  to  spill  it  himself,  — was  not  this  his  blood,  his, 
Gauvain 's  ?  His  grandfather  was  dead,  but  his  grand- 
uncle  lived,  and  this  grand-uncle  was  the  Marquis  de 
Lantenac.  Would  not  that  ancestor  who  had  gone  to 
the  grave  rise  to  prevent  his  brother  from  being  forced 


GAUVAIN'S   SELF-QUESTIONING.  73 

into  it  ?  Would  he  not  command  his  grandson  hence- 
forth to  respect  that  crown  of  white  hairs,  become  pure 
as  his  own  angelic  halo  ?  Did  not  a  spectre  loom  with 
indignant  eyes  between  him,  Gauvain,  and  Lantenac  ? 
Was,  then,  the  aim  of  the  Revolution  to  denaturalize 
man  ?  Had  she  been  born  to  break  the  ties  of  family 
and  to  stifle  the  instincts  of  humanity  ?  Far  from  it. 
It  was  to  affirm  these  glorious  realities,  not  to  deny 
them,  that  '89  had  risen.  To  overturn  the  bastiles  was 
to  deliver  humanity;  to  abolish  feudality  was  to  found 
families.  The  author  being  the  point  from  whence 
authority  sets  out,  and  authority  being  included  in  the 
author,  there  can  be  no  other  authority  than  paternity  : 
hence  the  legitimacy  of  the  queen-bee  who  creates  her 
people,  and  who,  being  mother,  is  queen  ;  hence  the 
absurdity  of  the  king-man,  who  not  being  father,  cannot 
be  master.  Hence  the  suppression  of  the  king  ;  hence 
the  Republic  that  comes  from  all  this  !  Family,  hu- 
manity, revolution.  Revolution  is  the  accession  of  the 
peoples  ;  and,  at  the  bottom,  the  People  is  Man.  The 
thing  to  decide  was,  whether  when  Lantenac  returned  into 
humanity,  Gauvain  should  return  to  his  family.  The 
thing  to  decide  was,  whether  the  uncle  and  nephew 
should  meet  again  in  a  higher  light,  or  whether  the 
nephew's  recoil  should  reply  to  the  uncle's  progress. 
The  question  in  this  pathetic  debate  between  Gauvain 
and  his  conscience  had  resolved  itself  into  this  ;  and 
the  answer  seemed  to  come  of  itself,  —  he  must  save 
Lantenac. 

Yes  ;  but  France  ?  Here  the  dizzying  problem  sud- 
denly changed  its  face.  What  !  France  at  bay  ?  France 
betrayed,  flung  open,  dismantled  ?  Having  no  longer  a 
moat-  Germany  would  cross  the  Rhine;  no  longer  a 
wall,  Italy  would  leap  the  Alps,  and  Spain  the  Pyre- 
nees.     There  would  remain  to  France  that  great  abyss, 


74  NINETY-THREE. 

the  ocean.  She  had  for  her  the  gulf;  she  could  back 
herself  against  it,  and,  giantess,  supported  by  the  entire 
sea,  could  combat  the  whole  earth,  —  a  position,  after 
all,  impregnable.  Yet  no  ;  this  position  would  fail  her. 
The  ocean  no  longer  belonged  to  her.  In  this  ocean 
was  England.  True,  England  was  at  a  loss  how  to 
traverse  it.  Well,  a  man  would  fling  her  a  bridge  ;  a 
man  would  extend  his  hand  to  her  ;  a  man  would  go  to 
Pitt,  to  Craig,  to  CornwaLlis,  to  Dundas,  to  the  piraies, 
and  say,  "  Come  !  "  A  man  would  cry,  "  England,  seize 
Erance  !  "  And  this  man  was  the  Marquis  de  Lantenac. 
This  man  was  now  held  fast.  After  three  months  of 
chase,  of  pursuit,  of  frenzy,  he  had  at  last  been  taken. 
The  hand  of  the  Eevolution  had  just  closed  upon  the 
accursed  one  ;  the  clinched  fist  of  '93  had  seized  this 
royalist  murderer  by  the  throat.  Through  that  mys- 
terious premeditation  from  on  high  which  mixes  itself 
in  human  affairs,  it  was  in  the  dungeon  belonging  to 
his  family  that  this  parricide  awaited  his  punishment. 
The  feudal  lord  was  in  the  feudal  oubliette.  The  stones 
of  his  own  castle  rose  against  him  and  shut  him  in,  and 
he  who  had  sought  to  betray  his  country  had  been  be- 
trayed by  his  own  dwelling.  God  had  visibly  arranged 
all  this  ;  the  hour  had  sounded  ;  the  Eevolution  had 
Imken  prisoner  this  public  enemy  ;  he  could  no  longer 
fight,  he  could  no  longer  struggle,  he  could  no  longer 
harm.  In  this  Vendée,  which  owned  so  many  arms, 
his  was  the  sole  brain  ;  with  his  extinction,  civil  war 
would  be  extinct.  He  was  held  fast, —  tragic  and  fortu- 
nate conclusion  !  After  so  many  massacres,  so  much 
carnage,  he  was  a  captive,  this  man  who  had  slain  so 
pitilessly  ;  and  it  was  his  turn  to  die. 

And  if  some  one  should  be  found  to  save  him! 
Cimourdain,  that  is  to  say,  '93,  held  Lantenac,  that  is 
to  say,  Monarchy  ;  and  could  any  one  be  found  to  snatch 


GAUVAIN'S   SELF-QUESTIONING.  75 

its  prey  from  that  hand  of  bronze  ?  Lantenac,  the  man 
in  whom  concentrated  that  sheaf  of  scourges  called  the 
Past,  —  the  Marquis  de  Lantenac,  —  was  in  the  tomb  ; 
the  heavy  eternal  door  had  closed  upon  him  ;  would 
some  one  come  from  without  to  draw  back  the  bolt? 
This  social  malefactor  was  dead,  and  with  him  died  re- 
volt, fratricidal  contest,  bestial  war;  and  would  any 
one  be  found  to  resuscitate  him  ?  Oh,  how  that  death's- 
head  would  laugh  !  That  spectre  would  say,  "  It  is  well  : 
I  live  again,  —  the  idiots  !  "  How  he  would  once  more 
set  himself  at  his  hideous  work.  How  joyously  and 
implacably  this  Lantenac  would  plunge  anew  into  the 
gulf  of  war  and  hatred,  and  on  the  morrow  would  be 
seen  again  houses  burning,  prisoners  massacred,  the 
wounded  slain,   women  shot! 

And,  after  all,  did  not  Gauvain  exaggerate  this  action 
which  had  fascinated  him  ?  Three  children  were  lost  ; 
Lantenac  saved  them.  But  who  had  flung  them  into 
that  peril  ?  Was  it  not  Lantenac  ?  Who  had  set  those 
three  cradles  in  the  heart  of  the  conflagration  ?  Was  it 
not  Imânus  ?  Who  was  Imânus?  The  lieutenant  of 
the  marquis.  The  one  responsible  is  the  chief.  Hence 
the  incendiary  and  the  assassin  was  Lantenac.  What 
had  he  done  so  admirable  ?  He  had  not  persisted, —  that 
was  all.  After  having  conceived  the  crime,  he  had  re- 
coiled before  it.  He  had  become  horrified  at  himself. 
That  mother's  cry  had  wakened  in  him  those  remains  of 
human  mercy  which  exist  in  all  souls,  even  the  most 
hardened  ;  at  this  cry  he  had  returned  upon  his  steps. 
Out  of  the  night  where  he  had  buried  himself,  he  has- 
tened toward  the  day  ;  after  having  brought  about  the 
crime,  he  caused  its  defeat.  His  whole  merit  consisted 
in  this, —  not  to  have  been  a  monster  to  the  end. 

And  in  return  for  so  little,  to  restore  him  all.  To 
give  him  freedom,  the  fields,  the  plains,  air,  day  ;  restore 


76  NINETY-THREE. 

to  him  the  forest,  which  he  would  employ  to  shelter  his 
bandits  ;  restore  him  liberty,  which  he  would  use  to 
bring  about  slavery  ;  restore  life,  which  he  would  de- 
vote  to  death.  As  for  trying  to  come  to  an  understand- 
ing with  him  ;  attempting  to  treat  with  that  arrogant 
soul  ;  propose  his  deliverance  under  certain  conditions  ; 
demand  if  he  would  consent,  were  his  life  spared,  hence- 
forth to  abstain  from  all  hostilities  and  all  revolt,  — 
what  an  error  such  an  offer  would  be  Î  what  an  advan- 
tage it  would  give  him  !  against  what  scorn  would  the 
proposer  wound  himself  !  how  he  would  freeze  the  ques- 
tioner by  his  response,  "  Keep  such  shame  for  yourself: 
kill  me  !  " 

There  was,  in  short,  nothing  to  do  with  this  man  but 
to  slay  or  set  him  free.  He  was  ever  ready  to  soar  or  to 
sacrifice  himself  ;  his  strange  soul  held  at  once  the  eagle 
and  the  abyss.  To  slay  him,  —  what  a  pang  !  To  set 
him  free,  —  what  a  responsibility  !  Lan tenac  saved,  all 
was  to  begin  anew  with  the  Vendée,  —  like  a  struggle 
with  a  hydra  whose  heads  had  not  been  severed.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  with  the  rapidity  of  a  meteor,  the 
flame  extinguished  by  this  man's  disappearance  would 
blaze  up  again.  Lantenac  would  never  stop  to  rest 
until  he  had  carried  out  that  execrable  plan,  —  to  fling, 
like  the  cover  of  a  tomb,  Monarchy  upon  the  Eepublic, 
and  England  upon  France.  To  save  Lantenac  was  to 
sacrifice  France.  Life  to  Lantenac  was  death  to  a  host  of 
innocent  beings,  — men,  women,  children,  caught  anew 
in  that  domestic  war  ;  it  was  the  landing  of  the  English, 
the  recoil  of  the  Eevolution  ;  it  was  the  sacking  of  the 
villages,  the  rending  of  the  people,  the  mangling  of 
Brittany  ;  it  was  flinging  the  prey  back  into  the  tiger's 
claw.  And  Gauvain,  in  the  midst  of  uncertain  gleams 
and  rays  of  introverted  light,  beheld,  vaguely  sketched 
across  his  reverie,  this  problem  rise,  —  the  setting  the 
tiger  at  liberty. 


GAUVAIN'S   SELF-QUESTIONING  77 

And  then  the  question  reappeared  under  its  first 
aspect,  the  stone  of  Sisyphus,  which  is  nothing  other 
than  the  combat  of  man  with  himself,  fell  back.  Was 
Lantenac  that  tiger?  Perhaps  he  had  been;  but  was 
he  still  ? 

G-auvain  was  dizzy  beneath  the  whirl  and  conflict  in 
his  soul;  his  thoughts  turned  and  circled  upon  them- 
selves with  serpentine  swiftness.  After  the  closest  ex- 
amination, could  any  one  deny  Lantenac 's  devotion;  his 
stoical  self-abnegation,  his  superb  disinterestedness  ? 
What  !  to  attest  his  humanity  in  the  presence  of  the 
open  jaws  of  civil  war  !  What  !  in  this  contest  of  in- 
ferior truths,  to  bring  the  highest  truth  of  all!  What! 
to  prove  that  above  royalties  above  revolutions  above 
earthly  questions,  is  the  grand  tenderness  of  the  human 
soul,  —  the  recognition  of  the  protection  due  to  the  fee- 
ble from  the  strong,  the  safety  due  to  those  who  are 
perishing  from  those  who  are  saved,  the  paternity  due 
to  all  little  children  from  all  old  men  !  To  prove  these 
magnificent  truths  by  the  gift  of  his  head  !  to  be  a 
general,  and  renounce  strategy,  battle,  revenge  !  What  ! 
to  be  a  royalist,  and  to  take  a  balance  and  put  in  one 
scale  the  King  of  France,  a  monarchy  of  fifteen  cen- 
turies, old  laws  to  re-establish,  ancient  society  to  re- 
store, and  in  the  other  three  little  unknown  peasants. 
and  to  find  the  king,  the  throne,  the  sceptre,  and  fifteen 
centuries  of  monarchy  too  light  to  weigh  against  these 
three  innocent  creatures  !  What  !  was  all  that  nothing  ? 
What!  could  he  who  had  done  this  remain  a  tiger! 
Ought  he  to  be  treated  like  a  wild  beast  ?  No,  no,  no  ! 
The  man  who  had  just  illuminated  the  abyss  of  civil 
war  by  the  light  of  a  divine  action  was  not  a  monster. 
The  sword-bearer  was  metamorphosed  into  the  angel  of 
day.  The  infernal  Satan  had  again  become  the  celestial. 
Lucifer,     Lantenac  had   atoned   for   all  his  barbarities 


78  NINETY-THREE. 

by  one  act  of  sacrifice;  in  losing  himself  materially 
he  had  saved  himself  morally  ;  he  had  become  inno- 
cent again,  he  had  signed  his  own  pardon.  Does  not 
the  right  of  self-forgiveness  exist  ?  Henceforth  he  was 
venerable. 

Lantenac  had  just  shown  himself  almost  superhuman  ; 
it  was  now  Gauvain 's  turn.  Gauvain  was  called  upon 
to  answer  him.  The  struggle  of  good  and  evil  passions 
made  the  world  a  chaos  at  this  epoch  :  Lantenac,  domi- 
nating the  chaos,  had  just  brought  humanity  out  of  it  ; 
it  now  remained  for  Gauvain  to  bring  forth  their  family 
therefrom. 

What  was  he  about  to  do?  Was  Gauvain  about  to 
betray  the  trust  Providence  had  shown  in  him  ?  No  ; 
and  he  murmured  within  himself,  "  Let  us  save  Lan- 
tenac. "  And  a  voice  answered,  "  It  is  well.  Go  on  ; 
aid  the  English  ;  desert  ;  pass  over  to  the  enemy.  Save 
Lantenac  and  betray  France  !  "  And  Gauvain  shud- 
dered. "  Thy  solution  is  no  solution,  O  dreamer  !  " 
Gauvain  saw  the  Sphinx  smile  bitterly  in  the 
shadow. 

This  situation  was  a  sort  of  formidable  meeting- 
ground  where  hostile  truths  confronted  one  another,  and 
where  the  three  highest  ideas  of  man  —  humanity,  fam- 
ily, country  —  looked  in  one  another's  faces.  Each  of 
these  voices  took  up  the  word  in  its  turn,  and  each 
uttered  truth.  Each  in  its  turn  seemed  to  find  the  point 
where  wisdom  and  justice  met,  and  said,  "  Do  this  !  " 
Was  that  the  thing  he  ought  to  do  ?  Yes  :  no.  Season- 
ing said  one  thing,  and  feeling  another  :  the  two  coun- 
sels were  in  direct  opposition.  Eeasoning  is  only  reason  ; 
feeling  is  often  conscience.  The  one  comes  from  man 
himself,  the  other  from  a  higher  source;  hence  it  is  that 
feeling  has  less  clearness  and  more  power.  Still,  what 
force  stern  reason  possesses  ! 


GAUVAIN  S   SELF-QUKS'IÏONING.  79 

Gauvain  hesitated.  Maddening  perplexity!  Two 
abysses  opened  before  him.  Should  he  let  the  marquis 
perish  ?  Should  he  save  him  ?  He  must  plunge  into 
one  depth  or  the  other.  Toward  which  of  the  two  gulfs 
did  Duty  point? 


CHAPTER  III    . 

THE  COMMANDANT'S  MANTLE. 

JT  was»  after  all,  with  Duty  that  these  victors  had  ta 
deal.  Duty  raised  herself,  — stern  to  Ciniourdain's 
eyes  ;  terrible  to  those  of  Gauvain.  Simple  before  the 
one;  complex,  diverse,  tortuous,  before  the  other. 

Midnight  sounded;  then  one  o'clock.  Without  being 
conscious  of  it,  Gauvain  had  gradually  approached  the 
entrance  to  the  breach.  The  expiring  conflagration  only 
flung  out  intermittent  gleams  ;  the  plateau  on  the  other 
side  of  the  tower  caught  the  reflection  and  became  visi- 
ble for  an  instant,  then  disappeared  from  view  as  the 
smoke  swept  over  the  flames.  This  glare,  reviving  in 
jets  and  cut  by  sudden  shadows,  disproportioned  objects, 
and  made  the  sentinels  look  like  phantoms.  Lost  in 
his  reverie,  Gauvain  mechanically  watched  the  strife 
between  the  flame  and  smoke.  These  appearances  and 
disappearances  of  the  light  before  his  eyes  had  a  strange, 
subtle  analogy  with  the  revealing  and  concealment  of 
truth  in  his  soul. 

Suddenly,  between  two  clouds  of  smoke,  a  long  streak 
of  flame,  shot  out  from  the  dying  brazier,  illuminated 
vividly  the  summit  of  the  plateau,  and  brought  out  the 
skeleton  of  a  wagon  against  the  vermilion  background. 
Gauvain  stared  at  this  wagon.  It  was  surrounded  by 
horsemen  wearing  gendarmes'  hats;  it  seemed  to  him 
the  wagon  which  he  had  looked  at  through  Guéchamp's 
glass  several  hours  before,  when  the  sun  was  setting 


THE    COMMANDANT'S  MANTLE.  81 

and  the  wagon  away  off  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon. 
Some  men  were  mounted  on  the  cart  and  appeared  to  be 
unloading  it;  that  which  they  took  off  seemed  to  be 
heavy,  and  now  and  then  gave  out  the  sound  of  clank- 
ing iron.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  tell  what  it 
was;  it  looked  like  beams  for  a  frame-work.  Two  of 
the  men  lifted  between  them  and  set  upon  the  ground  a 
box,  which,  as  well  as  he  could  judge  by  the  shape, 
contained  a  triangular  object. 

The  flame  sank  ;  all  was  again  buried  in  darkness. 
Gauvain  stood  with  fixed  eyes  lost  in  thought  upon  that 
which  the  darkness  hid.  Lanterns  were  lighted,  men 
came  and  went  on  the  plateau  ;  but  the  forms  of  those 
moving  about  were  confused,  and,  moreover,  Gauvain 
was  below  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  and  there- 
fore could  see  little  of  what  was  passing.  Voices  spoke, 
but  he  could  not  catch  the  words.  Now  and  then  came 
a  sound  like  the  shock  of  timbers  striking  together.  He 
could  hear  also  a  strange  metallic  creaking,  like  the 
sharpening  of  a  scythe. 

Two  o'clock  struck.  Slowly,  and  like  one  who  strove 
to  retreat  and  yet  was  forced  by  some  invisible  power  to 
advance,  Gauvain  approached  the  breach.  As  he  came 
near,  the  sentinel  recognized  in  the  shadow  the  cloak 
and  braided  hood  of  the  commandant,  and  presented 
arms.  Gauvain  entered  the  hall  of  the  ground -floor, 
which  had  been  transformed  into  a  guard-room.  A 
lantern  hung  from  the  roof  ;  it  cast  just  light  enough  so 
that  one  could  cross  the  hall  without  treading  upon  the 
soldiers  who  lay,  most  of  them  asleep,  upon  the  straw. 
There  they  lay  ;  they  had  been  fighting  a  few  hours  be- 
fore ;  the  grape-shot,  partially  swept  away,  scattered  its 
grains  of  iron  and  lead  over  the  floor  and  troubled  then 
repose  somewhat,  but  they  were  weary,  and  so  slept 
This  hall  had  been  the  battle-ground,  the  scene  of  fren« 

VOL.   XVIII»  —  6 


82  NINETY-THREE. 

zied  attack  ;  there  men  had  groaned,  howled,  ground 
their  teeth,  struck  out  blindly  in  their  death-agony,  and 
expired.  Many  of  these  sleepers'  companions  had  fallen 
dead  upon  this  floor,  where  they  now  lay  down  in  their 
weariness;  the  straw  which  served  them  for  a  pillow 
had  drunk  the  blood  of  their  comrades.  Now  all  was 
ended;  the  blood  had  ceased  to  flow,  the  sabres  were 
dried;  the  dead  were  dead;  these  sleepers  slumbered 
peacefully.  Such  is  war.  And  then,  perhaps  to  morrow, 
the  slumber  of  all  will  be  the  same. 

At  Gauvain 's  entrance  a  few  of  the  men  rose,  -— 
among  others,  the  officer  in  command.  Gauvain  pointed 
to  the  door  of  the  dungeon.  "  Open  it,  "  he  said  to  the 
officer.  The  bolts  were  drawn  back  ;  the  door  opened. 
Gauvain  entered  the  dungeon.  The  door  closed  behind 
him. 


BOOK  YIL 

FEUDALITY  AND  REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   ANCESTOR. 

A  LAMP  was  placed  on  the  flags  of  the  crypt  at  the 
side  of  the  air-hole  in  the  oubliette.  There  could 
also  be  seen  on  the  stones  a  jug  of  water,  a  loaf  of  army 
bread,  and  a  truss  of  straw.  The  crypt  being  cut  out  in 
the  rock,  the  prisoner  who  had  conceived  the  idea  of 
setting  fire  to  the  straw  would  have  done  it  to  his  own 
hurt,  —  no  risk  of  conflagration  to  the  prison,  certainty 
of  suffocation  to  the  prisoner. 

At  the  instant  the  door  turned  on  its  hinges  the  mar- 
quis was  walking  to  and  fro  in  his  dungeon,  — ■  that 
mechanical  pacing  natural  to  wild  animals  in  a  cage. 
At  the  noise  of  the  opening  and  shutting  of  the  door  he 
raised  his  head,  and  the  lamp  which  set  on  the  floor  be- 
tween Gauvain  and  the  marquis  struck  full  upon  the 
faces  of  both  men.  They  looked  at  each  other,  and 
something  in  the  glance  of  either  kept  the  two 
motionless. 

At  length  the  marquis  burst  out  laughing,  and  ex- 
claimed :  "  Good-evening,  sir.  It  is  a  long  time  since 
I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you.  You  do  me 
the  favour  of  paying  rne  a  visit;  I  thank  you.     I  ask 


84  NINETY-THREE. 

nothing  better  than  to  converse  a  little;  I  was  begin- 
ning to  bore  myself.  ¥our  friends  lose  a  great  deal  of 
time  ;  proofs  of  identity,  court-martials,  —  all  those 
ceremonies  take  a  long  while  ;  I  could  go  much  quicker 
at  need.  Here  I  am  in  my  house  ;  take  the  trouble  to 
enter.  Well,  what  do  you  say  of  all  that  is  happening  ? 
Original,  is  it  not  ?  Once  on  a  time  there  was  a  king 
and  a  queen  :  the  king  was  the  king  ;  the  queen  was  — ■ 
France.  They  cut  the  king's  head  off,  and  married  the 
queen  to  Kobespierre;  this  gentleman  and  that  lady 
have  a  daughter  named  Guillotine,  with  whom  it  ap- 
pears I  am  to  make  acquaintance  to-morrow  morning. 
I  shall  be  delighted  —  as  I  am  to  see  you.  Did  you 
come  about  that  ?  Have  you  risen  in  rank  ?  Shall  you 
be  the  headsman  ?  If  it  is  a  simple  visit  of  friendship, 
I  am  touched.  Perhaps,  Viscount,  you  no  longer  know 
what  a  nobleman  is  ;  well,  you  see  one,  —  it  is  I.  Look 
at  the  specimen.  It  is  an  odd  race.;  it  believes  in  God, 
it  believes  in  tradition,  it  believes  in  family,  it  believes 
in  its  ancestors,  it  believes  in  the  example  of  its  father, 
—  in  fidelity,  loyalty,  duty  toward  its  prince,  respect 
to  ancient  laws,  virtue,  justice  ;  and  it  would  shoot  you 
with  pleasure.  Have  the  goodness  to  sit  down,  I  pray 
you,  —  on  the  stones,  it  must  be,  it  is  true,  for  I  have 
no  armchair  in  my  salon  ;  but  he  who  lives  in  the  mire 
can  sit  on  the  ground.  I  do  not  say  that  to  offend  you, 
for  what  we  call  the  '  mire  '  you  call  the  '  nation.  '  I 
fancy  that  you  do  not  insist  I  shall  shout  '  Liberty, 
Equality,  Fraternity  '  ?  This  is  an  ancient  chamber  of 
my  house  :  formerly  the  lords  imprisoned  clowns  here  ; 
now  clowns  imprison  the  lords.  These  stupidities  are 
called  a  Eevolution.  It  appears  that  my  head  is  to  be 
cut  off  in  thirty-six  hours.  I  see  nothing  inconvenient 
in  that  ;  still,  if  my  captors  had  been  polite,  they  would 
have  sent  me  my  snuff-box  :  it  is  up  in  the  chamber  of 


THE  ANCESTOR.  85 

the  mirrors,  where  you  used  to  play  when  you  were  a 
child,  where  I  used  to  dance  you  on  my  knees.  Sir,  let 
me  tell  you  one  thing  :  You  call  yourself  Gauvain,  and, 
strange  to  say,  you  have  noble  blood  in  your  veins,  — 
yes,  by  Heaven  !  the  same  that  runs  in  mine  ;  yet  the 
blood  that  made  me  a  man  of  honour  makes  you  a  rascal. 
Such  are  personal  idiosyncrasies  !  You  will  tell  me  it  is 
not  your  fault  that  you  are  a  rascal  ;  nor  is  it  mine  that 
I  am  a  gentleman.  Zounds  !  one  is  a  malefactor  without 
knowing  it  :  it  comes  from  the  air  one  breathes.  In 
times  like  these  of  ours  one  is  not  responsible  for  what 
one  does  ;  the  Eevolution  is  guilty  for  the  whole  world, 
and  all  your  great  criminals  are  great  innocents.  What 
blockheads  !  To  begin  with  yourself.  Permit  me  to 
admire  you.  Yes,  I  admire  a  youth  like  you,  who,  a 
man  of  quality,  well  placed  in  the  State,  having  noble 
blood  to  shed  in  a  noble  cause,  Viscount  of  this  Tower- 
Gauvain,  Prince  of  Brittany,  able  to  be  duke  by  right, 
and  peer  of  France  by  heritage,  —  which  is  about  all  a 
man  of  good  sense  could  desire  here  below,  —  amuses 
himself,  being  what  he  is,  to  be  what  you  are  ;  playing 
his  part  so  well  that  he  produces  upon  his  enemies  the 
effect  of  a  villain,  and  on  his  friends  of  an  idiot.  By 
the  way,  give  my  compliments  to  the  Abbé  Cimourdain.  " 
The  marquis  spoke  perfectly  at  his  ease,  quietly, 
emphasizing  nothing,  in  his  polite  society  voice,  his 
eyes  clear  and  tranquil,  his  hand  in  his  waistcoat- 
pocket.  He  broke  off,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  re- 
sumed :  "  I  do  not  conceal  from  you  that  I  have  done 
what  I  could  to  kill  you.  Such  as  you  see  me,  I  have 
myself,  in  person,  three  times  aimed  a  cannon  at  you. 
A  discourteous  proceeding,  —  I  admit  it  ;  but  it  would 
be  giving  rise  to  a  bad  example  to  suppose  that  in  war 
your  enemy  tries  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  you. 
For  we  are  in  war,  monsieur  my  nephew  ;  everything  is 


86  NINETY-THREE. 

put  to  fire  and  sword.  Into  the  bargain,  it  is  true  that 
they  have  killed  the  king.      A  pretty  century  !  " 

He  checked  himself  again,  and  again  resumed: 
"  When  one  thinks  that  none  of  these  things  would 
have  happened  if  Voltaire  had  been  hanged  and  Kous- 
seau  sent  to  the  galleys  !  Ah,  those  men  of  mind,  — ■ 
what  scourges  !  But  there,  what  is  it  you  reproach  that 
monarchy  with  ?  It  is  true  that'  the  Abbé  Pucelle  was 
sent  to  his  Abbey  of  Portigny  with  as  much  time  as  he 
pleased  for  the  journey  ;  and  as  for  your  Monsieur 
Titon,  who  had  been,  begging  your  pardon,  a  terrible 
debauchee,  and  had  gone  the  rounds  of  the  loose  women 
before  hunting  after  the  miracles  of  the  Deacon  Paris, 
he  was  transferred  from  the  Castle  of  Vincennes  to  the 
Castle  of  Ham  in  Picardy,  which  is,  I  confess,  a  suffi- 
ciently ugly  place.  There  are  wrongs  for  you  !  I  recol- 
lect :  I  cried  out  also  in  my  day  ;  I  was  as  stupid  as 
you.  " 

The  marquis  felt  in  his  pocket  as  if  seeking  his  snuff- 
box, then  continued  :  "  But  not  so  wicked.  We  talked 
just  for  talk's  sake.  There  was  also  the  mutiny  of  de- 
mands and  petitions  ;  and  then  up  came  those  gentle- 
men the  philosophers,  and  their  writings  were  burned 
instead  of  the  authors.  The  Court  cabals  mixed  them- 
selves in  the  matter  ;  there  were  all  those  stupid  fellows. 
Turgot,  Quesnay,  Malesherbes,  the  physiocratists,  and 
so  forth,  —  and  the  quarrel  began.  The  whole  came  from 
the  scribblers  and  the  rhymesters.  The  Encyclopedia  ; 
Diderot,  D'Alembert,  ■ — ah,  the  wicked  scoundrels  !  To 
think  of  a  well-born  man  like  the  King  of  Prussia  join- 
ing them!  I  would  have  suppressed  all  those  paper- 
scratchers.  Ah,  we  were  justiciaries,  our  family  ;  you 
may  see  there  on  the  wall  the  marks  of  the  quartering- 
wheel.  We  did  not  jest.  No,  no;  no  scribblers! 
While  there  are  Arouets,  there  will  be  Marats  ;  as  long 


THE  ANCESTOR.  87 

as  there  are  fellows  who  scribble,  there  will  be  scoun- 
drels who  assassinate  ;  as  long  as  there  is  ink,  there  will 
be  black  stains;  as  long  as  men's  claws  hold  a  goose's 
feather,  frivolous  stupidities  will  engender  atrocious 
ones.  Books  cause  crimes.  The  word  '  chimera  '  has 
two  meanings,  —  it  signifies  dream,  and  it  signifies 
monster.  How  dearly  one  pays  for  idle  trash  !  What 
is  that  you  sing  to  us  about  your  rights  ?  The  rights 
of  man  !  rights  of  the  people  !  —  is  that  empty  enough, 
stupid  enough,  visionary  enough,  sufficiently  void  of 
sense  ?  When  I  say  Havoise,  the  sister  of  Conan  II. , 
brought  the  county  of  Brittany  to  Hoel  Count  of  Nantes 
and  Cornouailles,  who  left  the  throne  to  Alain  Fergant 
the  uncle  of  Bertha,  who  espoused  Alain-le-noir  Lord 
of  Koche-sur-Yon,  and  bore  him  Conan  the  Little,  grand- 
father of  Guy,  or  Gauvain  de  Thouars,  our  ancestor,  — I 
state  a  thing  that  is  clear,  and  there  is  a  right.  But 
your  scoundrels,  your  rascals,  your  wretches,  what  do 
they  call  their  rights  ?  Deicide  and  regicide  !  Is  it  not 
hideous  ?  Oh,  the  clowns  !  I  am  sorry  for  you,  sir, 
but  you  belong  to  this  proud  Brittany  blood  ;  you  and  I 
had  Gauvain  de  Thouars  for  our  ancestor;  we  had  for 
another  that  great  Duke  of  Montbazon  who  was  peer  of 
France  and  honoured  with  the  Grand  Collar  of  the 
Orders,  who  attacked  the  suburb  of  Tours,  and  was 
wounded  at  the  Battle  of  Arques,  and  died  Grand 
Huntsman  of  France,  in  his  house  of  Couzières  in  Tou- 
raine,  aged  eighty-six.  I  could  tell  you  still  further  of 
the  Duke  de  Laudunois,  son  of  the  Lady  of  Garnache  ; 
of  Claude  de  Lorraine,  Duke  de  Chevreuse  and  of  Henri 
de  Lenoncourt,  and  of  Françoise  de  Laval-Boisdauphin, 
—  but  to  what  purpose  ?  Monsieur  has  the  honour  of 
being  an  idiot,  and  considers  himself  the  equal  of  my 
groom.  Learn  this  :  I  was  an  old  man  while  you  were 
still  a  brat  ;  I  remain  as  much  vour  superior  as  I  was 


88  NINETY-THREE. 

then.  As  you  grew  up  you  found  means  to  belittle 
yourself.  Since  we  ceased  to  see  each  other  each  has 
gone  his  own  way  :  I  followed  honesty,  you  went  in  the 
opposite  direction.  Ah,  I  do  not  know  how  all  that 
will  finish  those  gentlemen,  your  friends,  are  full-blown 
wretches  !  Verily,  it  is  fine,  I  grant  you,  a  marvellous 
step  gained  in  the  cause  of  progress,  —  to  have  sup- 
pressed in  the  army  the  punishment  of  the  pint  of  water 
inflicted  on  the  drunken  soldier  for  three  consecutive 
days  ;  to  have  the  Maximum,  the  Convention,  the 
Bishop  Gobel,  Monsieur  Chaumette,  and  Monsieur 
Hébert  ;  to  have  exterminated  the  Past  in  one  mass  from 
the  Bastille  to  the  peerage  !  They  replace  the  saints  by 
vegetables  !  So  be  it,  citizens  !  you  are  masters  ;  reign, 
take  your  ease,  do  what  you  like,  stop  at  nothing  !  All 
this  does  not  hinder  the  fact  that  religion  is  religion, 
that  royalty  fills  fifteen  hundred  years  of  our  history, 
and  that  the  old  French  nobility  are  loftier  than  you, 
even  with  their  heads  off.  As  for  your  cavilling  over  the 
historic  rights  of  royal  races,  we  shrug  our  shoulders  at 
that.  Chilperic,  in  reality,  was  only  a  monk  named 
Daniel;  it  was  Eainfroi  who  invented  Chilperic,  in 
order  to  annoy  Charles  Martel  :  we  know  those  things 
just  as  well  as  yov  do.  The  question  does  not  lie  there  ; 
the  question  is  this  :  To  be  a  great  kingdom,  to  be  the 
ancient  France,  to  be  a  country  perfectly  ordered,  wherein 
were  to  be  considered,  first,  the  sacred  person  of  its 
monarchs,  absolute  lords  of  the  State  ;  then  the  princes  ; 
then  the  officers  of  the  crown  for  the  armies  on  land  and 
sea,  for  the  artillery,  for  the  direction  and  superinten- 
dence of  the  finances  ;  after  that  the  officers  of  justice, 
great  and  small,  those  for  the  management  of  taxes  and 
general  receipts  ;  and,  lastly,  the  police  of  the  kingdom 
in  its  three  orders.  All  this  was  fine  and  nobly  regu- 
lated ;  you  have  destroyed  it.      You  have  destroyed  the 


THE  ANCESTOR.  89 

provinces,  like  the  lamentably  ignorant  creatures  you 
are,  without  even  suspecting  what  the  provinces  really 
were.  The  genius  of  France  held  the  genius  of  the  en- 
tire continent;  each  province  of  France  represented  a 
virtue  of  Europe  :  the  frankness  of  Germany  was  in 
Picardy  ;  the  generosity  of  Sweden,  in  Champagne  ;  the 
industry  of  Holland,  in  Burgundy  ;  the  activity  of 
Poland,  in  Languedoc;  the  gravity  of  Spain,  in  Gas- 
cony  ;  the  wisdom  of  Italy,  in  Provence  ;  the  subtlety  of 
Greece,  in  Normandy  ;  the  fidelity  of  Switzerland,  in 
Dauphiny.  You  knew  nothing  of  all  that;  you  have 
broken,  shattered,  ruined,  demolished  ;  you  have  shown 
yourselves  simply  idiotic  brutes.  Ah,  you  will  no 
longer  have  nobles  ?  Well,  you  shall  have  none  !  Get 
your  mourning  ready  :  you  shall  have  no  more  paladins, 
no  more  heroes  ;  say  good-night  to  the  ancient  gran- 
deurs ;  find  me  a  D'Assas  at  present!.  You  are  all  of 
you  afraid  for  your  skins.  You  will  have  no  more  the 
chivalry  of  Fontenoy,  who  saluted  before  killing  one 
another;  you  will  have  no  more  combatants  like  those 
in  silk  stockings  at  the  siege  of  Lérida  ;  you  will  have 
no  more  plumes  floating  past  like  meteors  :  you  are  a 
people  finished,  come  to  an  end.  You  will  suffer  the 
outrage  of  invasion.  If  Alaric  II.  could  return,  he 
would  no  longer  find  himself  confronted  by  Clovis  ;  if 
Abderaman  could  come  back,  he  would  no  longer 
find  himself  face  to  face  with  Charles  Martel;  if  the 
Saxons,  they  would  no  longer  find  Pepin  before  them. 
You  will  have  no  more  Agnadel,  Eocroy,  Lens,  Staffarde, 
Neerwinden,  Steinkirke,  La  Marsaille,  Eancoux,  Law- 
feld,  Mahon  ;  you  will  have  no  Marignan,  with  Francis 
I.  ;  you  will  have  no  Bouvines,  with  Philip  Augustus 
taking  prisoner  with  one  hand  Eenaud  Count  of  Bou- 
logne, and  with  the  other,  Ferrand  Count  of  Flanders  ; 
you  will  have  Agincourt,  but  you  vv  ill  have  no  more  the 


90  NINETY-THREE. 

Sieur  de  Bacqueville,  grand  bearer  of  the  oriflammei 
enveloping  himself  in  his  banner  to  die.  Go  on,  go  on  ; 
do  your  work  !     Be  the  new  men  !  become  dwarfs  !  " 

The  marquis  was  silent  for  an  instant,  then  began 
again  :  "  But  leave  us  great.  Kill  the  kings,  kill  the 
nobles,  kill  the  priests  ;  tear  down,  ruin,  massacre  ; 
trample  under  foot,  crush  ancient  laws  beneath  your 
heels  ;  overthrow  the  throne  ;  stamp  upon  the  altar  of 
God,  dash  it  in  pieces,  dance  above  it  !  On  with  you 
to  the  end  !  You  are  traitors  and  cowards,  incapable  of 
devotion  or  sacrifice.  I  have  spoken  ;  now  have  me 
guillotined,  monsieur  the  viscount.  I  have  the  honour 
to  be  your  very  humble  servant.  " 

Then  he  added  :  "  Ah,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  set  the 
truth  plainly  before  you.  What  difference  can  it  make 
to  me  ?     I  am  dead.  " 

"  You  are  free,  "  said  Gauvain.  He  unfastened  his 
commandant's  cloak,  advanced  toward  the  marquis,  threw 
it  about  his  shoulders,  and  drew  the  hood  close  down 
over  his  eyes.     The  two  men  were  of  the  same  height. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  doing  ?  "  the  marquis  asked. 

Gauvain  raised  his  voice,  and  cried  :  "  Lieutenant, 
open  to  me.  " 

The  door  opened. 

Gauvain  exclaimed  :  "  Close  the  door  carefully  behind 
me  !  "  And  he  pushed  the  stupefied  marquis  across  the 
threshold. 

The  hall  turned  into  a  guard-room  was  lighted,  it 
will  be  remembered,  by  a  horn  lantern,  whose  faint 
rays  only  broke  the  shadows  here  and  there.  Such  of 
the  soldiers  as  were  not  asleep  saw  dimly  a  man  of  lofty 
stature,  wrapped  in  the  mantle  and  hood  of  the  com- 
mander-in-chief, pass  through  the  midst  of  them  and 
move  toward  the  entrance.  They  made  a  military  sa- 
lute, and  the  man  passed  on. 


THE   ANCESTOR.  91 

The  marquis  slowly  traversed  the  guard-room,  the 
breach  (not  without  hitting  his  head  more  than  once), 
and  went  out.  The  sentinel,  believing  that  he  saw  Gau- 
vain,  presented  arms.  When  he  was  outside,  having  the 
grass  of  the  fields  under  his  feet,  within  two  hundred 
paces  of  the  forest,  and  before  him  space,  night,  liberty, 
life,  —  he  paused,  and  stood  motionless  for  an  instant 
like  a  man  who  has  allowed  himself  to  be  pushed  on  ; 
who  has  yielded  to  surprise,  and  who,  having  taken  ad- 
vantage of  an  open  door,  asks  himself  if  he  has  done  well 
or  ill,  hesitates  to  go  farther,  and  gives  audience  to  a  last 
reflection.  After  a  few  seconds'  deep  reverie  he  raised 
his  right  hand,  snapped  his  thumb  and  middle  finger, 
and  said,  "  My  faith  !  "     And  he  hurried  on 

The  door  of  the  dungeon  had  closed  again.  Gauvain 
was  within. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

THE   COURT-MAETIAL. 

AT  that  period  all  courts -martial  were  very  nearly 
discretionary.  Dumas  had  offered  in  the  Assem- 
bly a  rough  plan  of  military  legislation,  improved  later 
by  Talot  in  the  Council  of  the  Five  Hundred  ;  but  the 
definitive  code  of  war-councils  was  only  drawn  up  un- 
der the  Empire.  Let  us  add  in  parenthesis,  that  from 
the  Empire  dates  the  law  imposed  on  military  tribunals 
to  begin  receiving  the  votes  by  the  lowest  grade.  Under 
the  Eevolution  this  law  did  not  exist.  In  1793  the 
president  of  a  military  tribunal  was  almost  the  tribunal 
in  himself.  He  chose  the  members,  classed  the  order 
of  grades,  regulated  the  manner  of  voting, —  was  at  once 
master  and  judge. 

Cimourdain  had  selected  for  the  hall  of  the  court- 
martial  that  very  room  on  the  ground-floor  where  the 
retirade  had  been  erected,  and  where  the  guard  was  now 
established.  He  wished  to  shorten  everything,  —  the 
road  from  the  prison  to  the  tribunal,  and  the  passage 
from  the  tribunal  to  the  scaffold. 

In  conformity  with  his  orders  the  court  began  its  sit- 
ting at  midday,  with  no  other  show  of  state  than  this  : 
three  straw-bottomed  chairs,  a  pine  table,  two  lighted 
candles,  a  stool  in  front  of  the  table.  The  chairs  were 
for  the  judges,  and  the  stool  for  the  accused.  At  either 
end  of  the  table  also  stood  a  stool,  — one  for  the  com- 


THE   COURT-MARTIAL.  93 

missioner  auditor,  who  was  a  quartermaster;  the  other 
for  the  registrar,  who  was  a  corporal.  On  the  table  were 
a  stick  of  red  sealing-wax,  a  brass  seal  of  the  Eepublic, 
two  ink-stands,  some  sheets  of  white  paper,  and  two 
printed  placards  spread  open,  —  the  first  containing  the 
declaration  of  outlawry  ;  the  second,  the  decree  of  the 
CoDvention.  The  tricoloured  flag  hung  on  the  back  of  the 
middle  chair  :  in  that  period  of  rude  simplicity  decora- 
tions were  quickly  arranged,  and  it  needed  little  time 
to  change  a  guard-room  into  a  court  of  justice.  The 
middle  chair,  intended  for  the  president,  stood  in  face 
of  the  prison  door.  The  soldiers  made  up  the  audience. 
Two  gendarmes  stood  on  guard  by  the  stool. 

Cimourdain  was  seated  in  the  centre  chair,  having  at 
his  right  Captain  Guéchamp,  first  judge  ;  and  at  his  left 
Sergeant  Radoub,  second  judge.  Cimourdain  wore  a  hat 
with  a  tricoloured  cockade,  his  sabre  at  his  side,  and 
his»  two  pistols  in  his  belt  ;  his  scar,  of  a  vivid  red, 
added  to  his  savage  appearance.  Radoub 's  wound  had 
been  only  partially  stanched  ;  he  had  a  handkerchief 
knotted  about  his  head,  upon  which  a  bloodstain  slowly 
widened. 

At  midday  the  court  had  not  yet  opened  its  proceed- 
ings. A  messenger,  whose  horse  could  be  heard  stamp- 
ing outside,  stood  ,  near  the  table  of  the  tribunal. 
Cimourdain  was  writing,  —  writing  these  lines  :  — 

"  Citizen  Members  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  —  Lantenac  is  taken.  He  will  be  executed  to- 
morrow." 

He  dated  and  signed  the  dispatch  ;  folded,  sealed,  and 
handed  it  to  the  messenger,  who  departed.  This  done, 
Cimourdain  called  in  a  loud  voice  :  "  Open  the  dungeon  !  " 

The  two  gendarmes  drew  back  the  bolts,  opened  the 
door  of  the  dungeon,   and  entered. 


94  NINETY-THREE. 

Cimourdain  lifted  his  head,  folded  his  arms,  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  door  and  cried  :  "  Bring  out  the  prisoner  !  " 

A  man  appeared  between  the  two  gendarmes,  standing 
beneath  the  arch  of  the  door-way.      It  was  Gauvain. 

Cimourdain  started.  "  Gauvain  !  "  he  exclaimed.  Then 
he  added,  "  I  demand  the  prisoner.  " 

"  It  is  I,  "  said  Gauvain. 

«  Thou  ? " 

«    T     » 

"  And  Lantenac  ?  " 
"  He  is  free.  " 

■  Free  ?  " 
"  Yes.  " 

"  Escaped  ?  * 

"  Escaped.  " 

Cimourdain  trembled  as  he  stammered  :  "  In  truth  the 
castle  belongs  to  him  ;  he  knows  all  its  outlets.  The 
dungeon  may  communicate  with  some  secret  opening. 
I  ought  to  have  remembered  that  he  would  find  means 
to  escape  ;  he  would  not  need  any  person's  aid  for  that.  " 

"  He  was  aided,  "  said  Gauvain. 

"  To  escape  ?  " 

"  To  escape.  " 

"Who  aided  him?* 

«    T     » 

■  Thou  ? " 
"  I.  " 

"  Thou  art  dreaming  !  " 

"  I  went  into  the  dungeon  ;  I  was  alone  with  the  pris- 
oner. I  took  off  my  cloak  ;  I  put  it  about  his  shoulders  ; 
I  drew  the  hood  down  over  his  face  ;  he  went  out  in  my 
stead,  and  I  remained  in  his.     Here  I  am  !  " 

"  Thou  didst  not  do  it!" 

"  I  did  it.  " 

"  It  is  impossible  !  " 


THE  COURT-MARTIAL.  95 


*  It  is  true. 


"  Bring  me  Lantenac  !  " 

"  He  is  no  longer  here.  The  soldiers,  seeing  the  com- 
mandant's mantle,  took  him  for  me,  and  allowed  him  to 
pass.      It  was  still  night.  " 

"  Thou  art  mad  !  " 

"  I  tell  you  what  was  done.  " 

A  silence  followed.  Cimourdain  stammered  :  "  Then 
thou  hast  merited  —  " 

"  Death,  "  said  Gauvain. 

Cimourdain  was  pale  as  a  corpse.  He  sat  motionless 
as  a  man  who  had  just  been  struck  by  lightning.  He 
no  longer  seemed  to  breathe.  A  great  drop  of  sweat 
stood  out  on  his  forehead.  He  forced  his  voice  into 
firmness,  and  said  :  "  Gendarmes,  seat  the  accused.  " 

Gauvain  placed  himself  on  the  stool. 

Cimourdain  added  :  "  Gendarmes,  draw  your  sabres.  * 
His  voice  had  got  back  its  ordinary  tone.  "  Accused,  " 
said  he,  "  you  will  stand  up.  "  He  no  longer  said  "thee  * 
and  "  thou  "  to  Gauvain. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  VOTES. 

GAUVAIN  rose. 
"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  demanded  Cimourdain. 

The  answer  came  unhesitatingly  :  "  Gauvain." 

Cimourdain  continued  the  interrogatory  :  "  Who  are 
you?" 

"I  am  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Expeditionary 
Column  of  the  Cotes-du-Nord." 

"Are  you  a  relative  or  a  connection  of  the  man  who 
has  escaped?" 

"  I  am  his  grand-nephew  ?  " 

"You  are  acquainted  with  the  decree  of  the 
Convention  ?  " 

"  I  see  the  placard  lying  on  your  table." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  in  regard  to  this  decree  ?  " 

"  That  I  countersigned  it  ;  that  I  ordered  its  carrying 
out  ;  that  it  was  I  who  had  this  placard  written,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  is  my  name." 

"  Choose  a  defender." 

"  I  will  defend  myself." 

"  You  can  speak." 

Cimourdain  had  become  again  impassible.  But  his 
impassibility  resembled  the  sternness  of  a  rock  rather 
than  the  calmness  of  a  man. 

Gauvain  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  collecting 
his  thoughts. 

Cimourdain  spoke  again:  "What  have  you  to  say  in 
your  defence  2" 


THE  VOTES.  97 

Gauvain  slowly  raised  his  head,  but  without  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  either  of  the  judges,  and  replied  :  "  This  : 
One  thing  prevented  my  seeing  another  ;  a  good  action 
seen  too  near  hid  from  me  a  hundred  criminal  deeds. 
On  one  side  an  old  man  ;  on  the  other,  three  children,  — 
all  these  put  themselves  between  me  and  duty.  I  forgot 
the  burned  villages,  the  ravaged  fields,  the  butchered 
prisoners,  the  slaughtered  wounded,  the  women  shot  ;  1 
forgot  France  betrayed  to  England.  I  set  at  liberty  the 
murderer  of  our  country  ;  I  am  guilty.  In  speaking 
thus,  I  seem  to  speak  against  myself  ;  it  is  a  mistake, 
—  I  speak  in  my  own  behalf.  When  the  guilty  ac- 
knowledges his  fault,  he  saves  the  only  thing  worth  the 
trouble  of  saving,  —  honour.  " 

"  Is  that,  "  returned  Cimourdain,  "  all  you  have  to  say 
in  your  own  defence  ?  " 

"  I  add,  that  being  the  chief  I  owed  an  example  ;  and 
that  you  in  your  turn,  being  judges,  owe  one  " 

"  What  example  do  you  demand  ?  " 

"  My  death.  " 

"  You  find  that  just  ?  " 

"  And  necessary.  " 

"  Be  seated.  " 

The  quartermaster,  who  was  auditor-commissioner, 
rose  and  read,  first,  the  decree  of  outlawry  against  the 
ci-devant  Marquis  de  Lantenac  ;  secondly,  the  decree  of 
the  Convention  ordaining  capital  punishment  against 
whosoever  should  aid  the  escape  of  a  rebel  prisoner.  He 
closed  with  the  lines  printed  at  the  bottom  of  the 
placard,  forbidding  "  to  give  aid  or  succour  to  the  be- 
low named  rebel,  under  penalty  of  death;  signed 
"  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Expeditionary  Column,  — 
Gauvain.  "  These  notices  read,  the  auditor-commis- 
sioner sat  down  again. 

Cimourdain  folded  his  arms  and  said  :  "  Accused,  pa^ 
vol.  xvnj,  —  7 


98  '  NINETY-THREE. 

attention.  Public,  listen,  look,  and  be  silent.  Yon 
have  before  you  the  law.  The  votes  will  now  be  taken. 
The  sentence  will  be  given  according  to  the  major- 
ity. Each  judge  will  announce  his  decision  aloud, 
in  presence  of  the  accused,  justice  having  nothing  to 
conceal.  " 

Cimourdain  continued:  "The  first  judge  will  give 
his  vote.     Speak,  Captain  Guéchamp.  " 

Captain  Guéchamp  seemed  to  see  neither  Cimourdain 
nor  Gauvain.  His  downcast  lids  concealed  his  eyes, 
which  remained  fixed  upon  the  placard  of  the  decree  as 
if  they  were  staring  at  a  gulf.  He  said  :  "  The  law  is 
immutable.  A  judge  is  more  and  less  than  a  man  :  he  is 
less  than  a  man  because  he  has  no  heart;  he  is  more 
than  a  man  because  he  holds  the  sword  of  justice.  In 
the  four  hundred  and  fourteenth  year  of  Eome,  Manlius 
put  his  son  to  death  for  the  crime  of  having  conquered 
without  his  orders;  violated  discipline  demanded  an 
example.  Here  it  is  the  law  which  has  been  violated, 
and  the  law  is  still  higher  than  discipline.  Through 
an  emotion  of  pity,  the  country  is  again  endangered. 
Pity  may  wear  the  proportions  of  a  crime.  Comman- 
dant Gauvain  has  helped  the  rebel  Lantenac  to  escape. 
Gauvain  is  guilty.     I  vote  —  death.  " 

"  Write,  registrar,  "  said  Cimourdain. 

The  clerk  wrote,  "  Captain  Guéchamp  :  death.  " 

Gauvain 's  voice  rang  out,  clear  and  firm.  "  Gué- 
champ, "  said  he,  "  you  have  voted  well,  and  I  thank 
you.  " 

Cimourdain  resumed  :  "  It  is  the  turn  of  the  second 
judge.      Speak,   Sergeant  Radoub.  " 

Radoub  rose,  turned  toward  Gauvain,  and  made  the 
accused  a  military  salute.  Then  he  exclaimed  :  "  If  that 
is  the  way  it  goes,  then  guillotine  me ,  for  I  give  here, 
before  God.  mv  most  sacred  word  of  honour  that  I  would 


THE  VOTES.  99 

ike  to  have  done,  first,  what  the  old  man  did,  and,  after 
that,  what  my  commandant  did.  When  I  saw  that  old 
fellow,  eighty  years  of  age,  jump  into  the  fire  to  pull 
three  brats  out  of  it,  I  said  '  Old  fellow,  you  are  a  brave 
man  !  '  And  when  I  hear  that  my  commandant  has 
saved  that  old  man  from  your  beast  of  a  guillotine,  I 
say,  *  My  commandant,  you  ought  to  be  my  general,  and 
you  are  a  true  man  ;  and,  as  for  me,  thunder  !  I  would 
give  you  the  Cross  of  Saint  Louis  if  there  were  still 
crosses,  or  saints,  or  Louises.  '  Oh,  there  !  are  we  going 
to  turn  idiots  at  present?  If  it  was  for  these  things 
that  we  gained  the  Battle  of  Jemmapes,  the  Battle  of 
Valmy,  the  Battle  of  Fleurus,  and  the  Battle  of  Wattig- 
nies,  then  you  had  better  say  so.  What  !  here  is  Com- 
mandant Gauvain,  who  for  these  four  months  past  has 
been  driving  those  asses  of  royalists  to  the  beat  of  the 
drum,  and  saving  the  Bepublic  by  his  sword  ;  who  did  a 
thing  at  Dol  which  needed  a  world  of  brains  to  do,  — 
and  when  you  have  a  man  like  that,  you  try  to  get  rid  of 
him  !  Instead  of  electing  him  your  general,  you  want  to 
cut  off  his  head  !  I  say  it  is  enough  to  make  a  fellow 
throw  himself  off  the  Pont  Neuf  head  foremost  !  You, 
yourself,  Citizen  Gauvain,  my  commandant,  if  you  were 
my  corporal  instead  of  being  my  superior,  I  would  tell 
you  that  you  talked  a  heap  of  infernal  nonsense  just  now. 
The  old  man  did  a  fine  thing  in  saving  the  children  ; 
you  did  a  fine  thing  in  saving  the  old  man  ;  and  if  we 
are  going  to  guillotine  people  for  good  actions,  why,  then, 
get  away  with  you  all  to  the  devil,  for  I  don't  know 
any  longer  what  the  question  is  about!  There  's  nothing 
to  hold  fast  to  !  It  is  not  true,  is  it,  all  this  ?  I  pinch 
myself  to  see  if  I  am  awake!  I  can't  understand.  So 
the  old  man  ought  to  have  let  the  babies  burn  alive,  and 
my  commandant  ought  to  have  let  the  old  man's  head 
be  cut  off!     See  here!  guillotine  me!     I  would  as  lief 


100  NINETY-THREE. 

have  it  done  as  not.  Just  suppose  :  if  the  children  had 
been  killed,  the  battalion  of  the  Bonnet  Eouge  would 
have  been  dishonoured  !  Is  that  what  was  wished  for  ? 
Why,  then,  let  us  eat  one  another  up  and  be  done  !  I 
understand  politics  as  well  as  any  of  you  :  I  belonged  to 
the  Club  of  the  Section  of  Pikes.  Zounds,  we  are  com- 
ing to  the  end  !  I  sum  up  the  matter  according  to  my 
way  of  looking  at  it.  I  don't  like  things  to  be  done 
which  are  so  puzzling  you  don't  know  any  longer  where 
you  stand.  What  the  devil  is  it  we  get  ourselves  killed 
for  ?  In  order  that  somebody  may  kill  our  chief  !  None 
of  that,  Lisette  !  I  want  my  chief  ;  I  will  have  my 
chief;  I  love  him  better  to-day  than  I  did  yesterday. 
Send  him  to  the  guillotine  ?  Why,  you  make  me  laugh  ! 
Now,  we  are  not  going  to  have  anything  of  that  sort.  I 
have  listened.  People  may  say  what  they  please.  In 
the  first  place  it  is  not  possible  !  " 

And  Eadoub  sat  down  again.  His  wound  had  re- 
opened. A  thin  stream  of  blood  exuded  from  under  the 
kerchief,  and  ran  along  his  neck  from  the  place  where 
his  ear  had  been. 

Cimourdain  turned  toward  the  sergeant.  "  You  vote 
for  the  acquittal  of  the  accused  ?  " 

"  I  vote,  "  said  Eadoub,  "  that  he  be  made  general.  " 
"  I  ask  if  you  vote  for  his  acquittal.  " 
"  I  vote  for  his  being  made  head  of  the  Eepublic.  9 
"  Sergeant   Eadoub,   do   you   vote   that    Commandant 
Gauvain  be  acquitted,  —  yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  I  vote  that  my  head  be  cut  off  in  place  of  his.  " 
"  Acquittal,  "  said  Cimourdain.    "  Write  it,  registrar.  " 
The  clerk  wrote,  "  Sergeant  Eadoub  :  acquittal.  " 
Then  the  clerk  said  :  "  One  voice  for  death.    One  voice 
for  acquittal.     A  tie.  " 

It  was  Cimourdain 's  turn  to  vote.  He  rose.  He  took 
off  his  hat  and  laid  it  on  the  table.     He  was  no  longer 


THE   VOTES.  101 

pale  or  livid.  His  face  was  the  colour  of  clay.  Had  all 
the  spectators  been  corpses  lying  there  in  their  winding- 
sheets,  the  silence  could  not  have  been  more  profound. 

Cimourdain  said,  in  a  solemn,  slow,  firm  voice: 
*  Accused,  the  case  has  been  heard.  In  the  name  of  the 
Eepublic,  the  court-martial,  by  a  majority  of  two; 
voices  —  " 

He  broke  off;  there  was  an  instant  of  terrible  sus- 
pense. Did  he  hesitate  before  pronouncing  the  sen- 
tence of  death  ?  Did  he  hesitate  before  granting  life  ? 
Every  listener  held  his  breath. 

Cimourdain  continued  :  "  Condemns  you  to  death.  " 

His  face  expressed  the  torture  of  an  awful  triumph. 
Jacob,  when  he  forced  the  angel,  whom  he  had  over- 
thrown in  the  darkness,  to  bless  him,  must  have  worn 
that  fearful  smile.  It  was  only  a  gleam  —  it  passed  ; 
Cimourdain  was  marble  again.  He  seated  himself,  put 
on  his  hat,  and  added  :  "  Gauvain,  you  will  be  executed 
to-morrow  at  sunrise.  " 

Gauvain  rose,  saluted,  and  said  :  "  I  thank  the  court.  " 

"  Lead  away  the  condemned,  "  said  Cimourdain.  He 
made  a  sign  :  the  door  of  the  dungeon  re-opened  ;  Gau- 
vain entered  ;  the  door  closed.  The  two  gendarmes  stood 
sentinel, —  one  on  either  side  of  the  arch,  sabre  in  hand. 

Sergeant  Eadoub  fell  senseless  upon  the  ground,  and 
was  carried  away. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

AFTER   CTMOURDAIN   THE   JUDGE   COMES   CTMOURDAm 
THE   MASTER. 

A  CAMP  is  a  wasp's  nest,  —  in  revolutionary  times 
above  all.  The  civic  sting  which  is  in  the  sol- 
dier moves  quickly,  and  does  not  hesitate  to  prick  the 
chief  after  having  chased  away  the  enemy. 

The  valiant  troop  which  had  taken  La  Tourgue  was 
filled  with  diverse  commotions,  —  at  first  against  Com- 
mandant Gauvain  when  it  learned  that  Lantenac  had 
escaped.  As  G-auvain  issued  from  the  dungeon  which 
had  been  believed  to  hold  the  marquis,  the  news  spread 
as  if  by  electricity,  and  in  an  instant  the  whole  army 
was  informed.  A  murmur  burst  forth  ;  it  was  :  *  They 
are  trying  Gauvain  ;  but  it  is  a  sham.  Trust  ci-devants 
and  priests  !  We  have  just  seen  a  viscount  save  a  mar- 
quis, and  now  we  are  going  to  see  a  priest  absolve  a 
noble  Î  " 

When  the  news  of  Gauvain 's  condemnation  came, 
there  was  a  second  murmur  :  "  It  is  horrible  !  Our  chief, 
our  brave  chief,  our  young  commander,  —  a  hero  !  He 
may  be  a  viscount,  —  very  well  ;  so  much  the  more  merit 
in  his  being  a  Eepublican.  What,  he,  the  liberator  of 
Pontorson,  of  Villedieu,  of  Pont-au-Beau;  the  conqueror 
of  Dol  and  La  Tourgue,  —  he  who  makes  us  invincible; 
he,  the  sword  of  the  Eepublic  in  Vendée  ;  the  man  who 
for  five  months  has  held  the  Chouans  at  bay,  and  re- 
paired all  the  blunders  of  Léchelle  and  the  others  !  — • 


AFTER  THE  JUDGE  COMES  TEE  MASTER.         103 

this  Cimourdain  to  dare  to  condemn  him  to  death  Î  For 
what  ?  Because  he  saved  an  old  man  who  had  saved 
three  children  !     A  priest  kill  a  soldier  !  " 

Thus  muttered  the  victorious  and  discontented  camp. 
A  stern  rage  surrounded  Cimourdain.  Four  thousand 
men  against  one,  —  that  should  seem  a  power  ;  it  is  not. 
These  four  thousand  men  were  a  crowd  ;  Cimourdain 
was  a  will.  It  was  known  that  Cimourdain 's  frown 
came  easily,  and  nothing  more  was  needed  to  hold  the 
army  in  respect.  In  those  stern  days  it  was  sufficient 
for  a  man  to  have  behind  him  the  shadow  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety  to  make  that  man  formidable  ; 
to  make  imprecation  die  into  a  whisper,  and  the  whisper 
into  silence. 

Before,  as  after  the  murmurs,  Cimourdain  remained 
the  arbiter  of  Gauvain's  fate  as  he  did  of  the  fate  of  all. 
They  knew  there  was  nothing  to  ask  of  him,  that  he 
would  only  obey  his  conscience,  — ■  a  superhuman  voice 
audible  to  his  ear  alone.  Everything  depended  upon 
him.  That  which  he  had  done  as  martial  judge,  he  could 
undo  as  civil  delegate.  He  only  could  show  mercy. 
He  possessed  unlimited  power  :  by  a  sign  he  could  set 
Gauvain  at  liberty.  He  was  master  of  life  and  death; 
he  commanded  the  guillotine.  In  this  tragic  moment 
he  was  the  man  supreme.      They  could  only  wait. 

Night  came. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

THE  DUNGEON. 

THE  hall  of  justice  had  become  again  a  guard-room  ; 
the  guard  was  doubled  as  upon  the  previous  even- 
ing ;  two  sentinels  stood  on  duty  before  the  closed  door 
of  the  prison. 

Toward  midnight,  a  man  who  held  a  lantern  in  his 
hand  traversed  the  hall,  made  himself  known  to  the 
sentries,  and  ordered  the  dungeon  open.  It  was  Cimour- 
dain.  He  entered  and  the  door  remained  ajar  behind 
him.  The  dungeon  was  dark  and  silent.  Cimourdain 
moved  forward  a  step  in  the  gloom,  set  the  lantern  on 
the  ground,  and  stood  still.  He  could  hear  amidst 
the  shadows  the  measured  breath  of  a  sleeping  man. 
Cimourdain  listened  thoughtfully  to  this  peaceful  sound. 

Gauvain  lay  on  a  bundle  of  straw  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  dungeon.  It  was  his  breathing  which  caught  the 
new  comer's  ear.      He  was  sleeping  profoundly. 

Cimourdain  advanced  as  noiselessly  as  possible,  moved 
close,  and  looked  down  upon  Gauvain.  The  glance  of  a 
mother  watching  her  nursling's  slumber  could  not  have 
been  more  tender  or  fuller  of  love.  Even  Cimourdain's 
will  could  not  control  that  glance.  He  pressed  his 
clinched  hands  against  his  eyes  with  the  gesture  one 
sometimes  sees  in  children,  and  remained  for  a  moment 
motionless.  Then  he  knelt,  softly  raised  Gauvain 's 
hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 


THE   DUNGEON.  105 

Gauvain  stirred.  He  opened  his  eyes,  full  of  the 
wonder  of  sudden  waking.  He  recognized  Cimourdain 
in  the  dim  light  which  the  lantern  cast  about  the  cave. 
"  Ah,  "  said  he,  "  it  is  you,  my  master.  "  And  he  added  : 
"  I  dreamed  that  Death  was  kissing  my  hand.  " 

Cimourdain  started  as  one  does  sometimes  under  the 
sudden  rush  of  a  flood  of  thoughts.  Sometimes  the  tide 
is  so  high  and  so  stormy  that  it  seems  as  if  it  would 
drown  the  soul.  Not  an  echo  from  the  overcharged 
depths  of  Cimourdain' s  heart  found  vent  in  words.  He 
could  only  say,   "  Gauvain  !  " 

And  the  two  gazed  at  each  other,  —  Cimourdain  with 
his  eyes  full  of  those  flames  which  burn  up  tears  ;  Gau- 
vain with  his  sweetest  smile. 

Gauvain  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and  said  :  "  That 
scar  I  see  on  your  face  is  the  sabre-cut  you  received  for 
me.  Yesterday,  too,  you  were  in  the  thick  of  that 
mêlée,  at  my  side,  and  on  my  account.  If  Providence 
had  not  placed  you  near  my  cradle,  where  should  I  be 
to-day  ?  In  utter  darkness.  If  I  have  any  true  concep- 
tion of  duty,  it  is  from  you  that  it  comes  to  me.  I  was 
born  with  my  hands  bound,  —  prejudices  are  ligatures  : 
you  loosened  those  bonds  ;  you  gave  my  growth  liberty, 
and  of  that  which  was  already  only  a  mummy  you  made 
anew  a  child.  Into  what  would  have  been  an  abortion  you 
put  a  conscience.  Without  you  I  should  have  grown  up 
a  dwarf.  I  exist  by  you.  I  was  only  a  lord,  you  made  me 
a  citizen  ;  I  was  only  a  citizen,  you  have  made  me  a  mind. 
You  have  made  me,  as  a  man,  fit  for  this  earthly  life  ; 
you  have  educated  my  soul  for  the  celestial  existence  ; 
you  have  given  me  human  reality,'  the  key  of  truth,  and, 
to  go  beyond  that,  the  key  of  light.  O  my  master!  I 
thank  you.      It  is  you  who  have  created  me.  " 

Cimourdain  seated  himself  on  the  straw  beside  Gau- 
vain, and  said  :  "  I  have  come  to  sup  with  thee.  n 


106  NINETY-THREE. 

Gauvain  broke  the  black  bread  and  handed  it  to  him. 
Cimourdain  took  a  morsel  ;  then  Gauvain  offered  the  jug 
of  water. 

"  Drink  first,  "  said  Cimourdain. 

Gauvain  drank,  and  passed  the  jug  to  his  companion, 
who  drank  after  him.  Gauvain  had  only  swallowed  a 
mouthful.  Cimourdain  drank  great  draughts.  During 
this  supper,  Gauvain  ate,  and  Cimourdain  drank,  —  a 
sign  of  the  calmness  of  the  one,  and  of  the  fever  which 
consumed  the  other.  A  serenity  so  strange  that  it  was  ter- 
rible reigned  in  this  dungeon.     The  two  men  conversed. 

Gauvain  said  :  "  Grand  events  are  sketching  them- 
selves. What  the  Eevolution  does  at  this  moment  is 
mysterious.  Behind  the  visible  work  stands  the  invisi- 
ble ;  one  conceals  the  other,  the  visible  work  is  savage, 
the  invisible  sublime.  In  this  instant  I  perceive  all 
very  clearly.  It  is  strange  and  beautiful.  It  has  been 
necessary  to  make  use  of  the  materials  of  the  Past. 
Hence  this  marvellous  '93.  Beneath  a  scaffolding  of 
barbarism  a  temple  of  civilization  is  building.  " 

"  Yes,  "  replied  Cimourdain.  "  From  this  provisional 
will  rise  the  definitive,  The  definitive  —  that  is  to  say, 
right  and  duty  —  are  parallel  :  taxes  proportional  and  pro- 
gressive ;  military  service  obligatory  ;  a  levelling  without 
deviation  :  and  above  the  whole,  making  part  of  all,  that 
straight  line,  the  law,  — the  Eepublic  of  the  absolute.  " 

"  I  prefer,  "  said  Gauvain,  "  the  ideal  Eepublic.  "  He 
paused  for  an  instant,  then  continued  :  "  0  my  master  ! 
in  all  which  you  have  just  said,  where  do  you  place  de- 
votion, sacrifice,  abnegation,  the  sweet  interlacing  of 
kindnesses,  love  ?  To  set  all  in  equilibrium,  it  is  well  ; 
to  put  all  in  harmony,  it  is  better.  Above  the  Balance 
is  the  Lyre.  Your  Eepublic*weighs,  measures,  regulates 
man  ;  mine  lifts  him  into  the  open  sky.  It  is  the  differ- 
ence between  a  theorem  and  an  eagle.  " 


THE  DUNGEON.  107 

*  You  lose  yourself  in  the  clouds.  * 

"  And  you  in  calculation.  " 

"  Harmony  is  full  of  dreams.  " 

"  There  are  such,  too,  in  algebra.  n 

"  I  would  have  man  made  by  the  rules  of  Euclid.  " 

"  And  I,  "  said  Gauvain,  "  would  like  him  better  as 
pictured  by  Homer.  " 

Cimourdain's  severe  smile  remained  fixed  upon  Gau- 
vain, as  if  to  hold  that  soul  steady  :  "  Poesy  !  Mistrust 
poets.  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  saying.  Mistrust  the  zephyrs, 
mistrust  the  sunshine,  mistrust  the  sweet  odours  of 
spring,   mistrust  the  flowers,   mistrust  the  stars  I  " 

"  None  of  these  things  can  feed  man.  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  Thought  is  nourishment.  To 
think  is  to  eat.  " 

"  No  abstractions  !  The  Republic  is  the  law  of  two 
and  two  make  four.  When  I  have  given  to  each  the 
share  which  belongs  to  him  —  " 

"  It  still  remains  to  give  the  share  which  does  not  be- 
long to  him.  " 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  understand  the  immense  reciprocal  concession, 
which  each  owes  to  all,  and  which  all  owe  to  each,  and 
which  is  the  whole  of  social  life.  " 

"  Beyond  the  strict  law  there  is  nothing,  " 

"  There  is  everything.  " 

"  I  only  see  justice.  " 

«  And  I,  —  I  look  higher.» 

"  What  can  there  be  above  justice  ?  " 

"  Equity.  " 

At  certain  instants  they  paused  as  if  lightning  flashes 
suddenly  chilled  them. 

Cimourdain  resumed  :  "  Particularize  ;  I  defy  you.  n 

K  So  be  it.     You  wish  military  service  made  obliga- 


108  NINETY-THREE. 

tory.  Against  whom.  Against  other  men.  I, —  Ï  would 
have  no  military  service  ;  I  want  peace.  You  wish  the 
wretched  succoured  ;  I  wish  an  end  put  to  suffering.  You 
want  proportional  taxes;  I  wish  no  tax  whatever.  I 
wish  the  general  expense  reduced  to  its  most  simple 
expression,   and  paid  by  the  social  surplus.  " 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  that  ?  " 

"  This  :  First,  suppose  parasitisms,  —  the  parasitisms 
of  the  priest,  the  judge,  the  soldier.  After  that,  turn 
your  riches  to  account.  You  fling  manure  into  the 
sewer  ;  cast  it  into  the  furrow.  Three  parts  of  the  soil 
are  waste  land  :  clear  up  France  ;  suppress  useless  pas- 
ture-grounds ;  divide  the  communal  lands  ;  let  each  man 
have  a  farm  and  each  farm  a  man.  You  will  increase  a 
hundred-fold  the  social  product.  At  this  moment  France 
only  gives  her  peasants  meat  four  days  in  the  year  ;  well 
cultivated,  she  would  nourish  three  hundred  millions  of 
men  —  all  Europe.  Utilize  Nature,  that  immense  aux- 
iliary so  disdained  ;  make  every  wind  toil  for  you,  every 
water-fall,  every  magnetic  effluence.  The  globe  has  a 
subterranean  net-work  of  veins  ;  there  is  in  this  net- 
work a  prodigious  circulation  of  water,  oil,  fire.  Pierce 
those  veins  :  make  this  water  feed  your  fountains,  this 
oil  your  lamps,  this  fire  your  hearths.  Reflect  upon  the 
movements  of  the  waves,  their  flux  and  reflux,  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  tides.  What  is  the  ocean  ?  An  enor- 
mous power  allowed  to  waste.  How  stupid  is  earth 
not  to  make  use  of  the  sea  I  " 

"  There  you  are  in  the  full  tide  of  dreams.  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  of  full  reality.  " 

Gauvain  added  :  "  And  woman,  what  will  you  do  with 
her  ?  " 

Cimourdain  replied  :  "  Leave  her  where  she  is,  —  the 
servant  of  man.  " 

*  Yes.     On  one  condition.  * 


THE  DUNGEON.  109 

"What?" 

*  That  man  shall  be  the  servant  of  woman.  n 

*  Can  you  think  of  it  ?  "  cried  Cimourdain.  "  Man  a 
servant?  Never!  Man  is  master.  I  admit  only  one 
royalty,  —that  of  the.  fireside.  Man  in  his  house  is 
king  !  " 

"  Yes.     On  one  condition.  " 

"What?" 

"  That  woman  shall  be  queen  there.  * 

-  That  is  to  say,  you  wish  for  man  and  woman  —  * 

"Equality." 

"  Equality  !  Can  you  dream  of  it  ?  The  two  creatures 
are  different.  " 

"  I  said  equality;  I  did  not  say  identity.  " 

There  was  another  pause,  like  a  sort  of  truce  between 
two  spirits  flinging  lightnings. 

Cimourdain  broke  the  silence  :  "  And  the  offspring, 
to  whom  do  you  consign  them  ?  " 

"  First  to  the  father  who  engenders  ;  then  to  the  mother 
who  gives  birth  ;  then  to  the  master  who  rears  ;  then  to 
the  city  that  civilizes  ;  then  to  the  country  which  is  the 
mother  supreme;  then  to  humanity,  who  is  the  great 
ancestor.  " 

"  You  do  not  speak  of  God  ?  * 

"  Each  of  those  degrees  —  father,  mother,  master,  city, 
country,  humanity  —  is  one  of  the  rungs  in  the  ladder 
which  leads  to  God.  " 

Cimourdain  was  silent. 

Gauvain  continued  :  "  When  one  is  at  the  top  of  the 
ladder,  one  has  reached  God.  Heaven  opens,  —  one  has 
only  to  enter.  * 

Cimourdain  made  a  gesture  like  a  man  calling  another 
back  :  "  Gauvain,  return  to  earth.  We  wish  to  realize 
the  possible.  " 

■  Do  not  commence  by  rendering  it  impossible,  " 


110  NINETY-THREE. 

"  The  possible  always  realizes  itself.  n 

"  Not  always.  If  one  treats  Utopia  harshly,  one  slays 
it.     Nothing  is  more  defenceless  than  the  egg.  " 

"  Still,  it  is  necessary  to  seize  Utopia,  to  put  the  yoke 
of  the  real  upon  it,  to  frame  it  in  the  actual.  The  ab- 
stract idea  must  transform  itself  into  the  concrete  :  what 
it  loses  in  beauty,  it  will  gain  in  usefulness  ;  it  is  les- 
sened, but  made  better.  Eight  must  enter  into  law, 
and  when  right  makes  itself  law,  it  becomes  absolute. 
That  is  what  I  call  the  possible.  " 

"  The  possible  is  more  than  that.  " 

"  Ah,  there  you  are  in  dream-land  again  Î  * 

"  The  possible  is  a  mysterious  bird,  always  soaring 
above  man's  head." 

"  It  must  be  caught.  " 

"  Living.  "  Gauvain  continued  :  "  This  is  my  thought  : 
Constant  progression.  If  God  had  meant  man  to  retro- 
grade, he  would  have  placed  an  eye  in  the  back  of  his 
head.  Let  us  look  always  toward  the  dawn,  the  blos- 
soming, the  birth.  That  which  falls  encourages  that  which 
mounts  ;  the  cracking  of  the  old  tree  is  an  appeal  to 
the  new.  Each  century  must  do  its  work  :  to-day  civic, 
to-morrow  human  ;  to-day  the  question  of  right,  to- 
morrow the  question  of  salary.  Salary  and  right,  —  the 
same  word  at  bottom.  Man  does  not  live  to  be  paid 
nothing.  In  giving  life,  God  contracts  a  debt.  Eight 
is  the  payment  inborn  ;  payment  is  right  acquired.  " 

Gauvain  spoke  with  the  earnestness  of  a  prophet. 
Cimourdain  listened.  Their  rôles  were  changed;  now  it 
seemed  the  pupil  who  was  master. 

Cimourdain  murmured  :  "  You  go  rapidly.  " 

"  Perhaps  because  I  am  a  little  pressed  for  time,  "  said 
Gauvain,  smiling.  And  he  added,  "  0  my  master  ! 
behold  the  difference  between  our  two  Utopias  !  You 
wish  the  garrison  obligatory,  I  the  school.     You  dream 


THE  DUNGEON.  Ill 

of  man  the  soldier  ;  I  dream  of  man  the  citizen.  You 
want  him  terrible  ;  I  want  him  a  thinker.  You  found 
a  Republic  upon  swords  ;  I  found  —  " 

He  interrupted  himself  :  "  I  would  found  a  Eepublic 
of  intellects.  " 

Cimourdain  bent  his  eyes  on  the  pavement  of  the  dun- 
geon, and  said  :  "  And  while  waiting  for  it,  what  would 
you  have  ?  " 

u  That  which  is.  " 

u  Then  you  absolve  the  present  moment  ?  * 

*  Yes.  " 

"  Wherefore  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  a  tempest.  A  tempest  knows  always 
what  it  does.  For  one  oak  uprooted,  how  many  forests 
purified  !  Civilization  had  the  plague  :  this  great  wind 
cures  it.  Perhaps  it  is  not  so  careful  as  it  ought  to  be  ; 
but  could  it  do  otherwise  than  it  does  ?  It  is  charged 
with  a  difficult  task.  Before  the  horror  of  miasma,  I 
comprehend  the  fury  of  the  blast.  " 

Gauvain  continued  :  "  Moreover,  why  should  I  fear  the 
tempest  if  I  have  my  compass  ?  How  can  events  affect 
me  if  I  have  my  conscience  ?  "  And  he  added,  in  a  low, 
solemn  voice  :  "  There  is  a  power  that  must  always  be 
allowed  to  guide.  " 

"  What  ?  "  demanded  Cimourdain. 

Gauvain  raised  his  finger  above  his  head.  Cimour- 
dain's  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  that  uplifted  finger, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  across  the  dungeon  vault  he 
beheld  the  starlit  sky.     Both  were  silent  again. 

Cimourdain  spoke  first  :  u  Society  is  greater  than  Na- 
ture. I  tell  you,  this  is  no  longer  possibility  —  it  is  a 
dream.  " 

"  It  is  the  goal.  Otherwise  of  what  use  is  society  ? 
Remain  in  Nature  ;  be  savages.  Otaheite  is  a  paradise, 
—  only  the  inhabitants  of  that  paradise  do  not  think. 


112  NINETY-THREE. 

An  intelligent  hell  would  be  preferable  to  an  imbruted 
heaven.  But,  no,  —  no  hell  ;  let  us  be  a  human  society, 
Greater  than  Nature  ?  Yes.  If  you  add  nothing  to  Na- 
ture, why  go  beyond  her  ?  Content  yourself  with  work, 
like  the  ant  ;  with  honey,  like  the  bee,  —  remain  the 
working  drudge  instead  of  the  queen  intelligence.  If 
you  add  to  Nature,  you  necessarily  become  greater  than 
she  :  to  add  is  to  augment  ;  to  augment  is  to  grow.  So- 
ciety is  Nature  sublimated.  I  want  all  that  is  lacking 
to  bee-hives,  all  that  is  lacking  to  ant-hills,  —  monu- 
ments, arts,  poesy,  heroes,  genius.  To  bear  eternal 
burdens  is  not  the  destiny  of  man.  No,  no,  no!  no 
more  pariahs,  no  more  slaves,  no  more  convicts,  no  more 
damned  !  I  desire  that  each  of  the  attributes  of  man 
should  be  a  symbol  of  civilization  and  a  patron  of  pro- 
gress ;  I  would  place  liberty  before  the  spirit,  equality 
before  the  heart,  fraternity  before  the  soul.  No  more 
yokes  !  Man  was  made  not  to  drag  chains,  but  to  soar 
on  wings.  No  more  of  man  reptile  1  I  wish  the  trans- 
figuration of  the  larva  into  the  winged  creature  ;  I  wish 
the  worm  of  the  earth  to  turn  into  a  living  flower  and 
fly  away.       I  wish  —  " 

He  broke  off.  His  eyes  blazed.  His  lips  moved.  He 
ceased  to  speak. 

The  door  had  remained  open.  Sounds  from  without 
penetrated  into  the  dungeon.  The  distant  peal  of  trum- 
pets could  be  heard,  probably  the  reveille;  then  the 
butt-end  of  muskets  striking  the  ground  as  the  sentinels 
were  relieved;  then,  quite  near  the  tower,  as  well  as 
one  could  judge,  a  noise  like  the  moving  of  planks  and 
beams,  followed  by  muffled,  intermittent  echoes  like  the 
strokes  of  a  hammer. 

Cimourdain  grew  pale  as  he  listened.  Gauvain  heard 
nothing.  His  reverie  became  more  and  more  profound. 
He  seemed  no  longer  to  breathe,  so  lost  was  he  in  the 


THE  DUNGEON.  113 

vision  that  snone  upon  his  soul.  Now  and  then  he 
started  slightly.  The  morning  which  illuminated  his 
eyes  waxed  grander. 

Some  time  passed  thus.  Then  Cimourdain  asked  : 
"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  " 

"  Of  the  future,  "  replied  Gauvain. 

He  sank  back  into  his  meditation.  Cimourdain  rose 
from  the  bed  of  straw  where  the  two  were  sitting. 
Gauvain  did  not  perceive  it.  Keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  dreamer,  Cimourdain  moved  slowly  backward 
toward  the  door  and  went  out.  The  dungeon  closed 
again. 


VOL   XVIII 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN   THE   SUN   ROSE. 

DAY  broke  along  the  horizon,  —  and  with  the  day  an 
object,  strange,  motionless,  mysterious,  which  the 
birds  of  heaven  did  not  recognize,  appeared  upon  the 
plateau  of  La  Tourgue  and  towered  above  the  forest  of 
Fougères.  It  had  been  placed  there  in  the  night;  it 
seemed  to  have  sprung  up  rather  than  to  have  been  built. 
It  lifted  high  against  the  horizon  a  profile  of  straight, 
hard  lines,  looking  lik.  a  Hebrew  letter,  or  one  of  those 
Egyptian  hieroglyphics  which  made  part  of  the  alphabet 
of  the  ancient  enigma. 

At  tho  first  glance  the  idea  which  this  object  roused 
was  its  lack  of  keeping  with  the  surroundings.  It  stood 
amidst  the  blossoming  heath.  One  asked  one's  self  for 
what  purpose  it  could  be  useful  ?  Then  the  beholder 
felt  a  chill  creep  over  him  as  he  gazed.  It  was  a  sort  of 
trestle,  having  four  posts  for  feet;  at  one  end  of  the 
trestle  two  tall  joists  upright  and  straight,  and  fastened 
together  at  the  top  by  a  cross-beam,  raised  and  held 
suspended  some  triangular  object  which  showed  black 
against  the  blue  sky  of  morning.  At  the  other  end  of 
the  staging  was  a  ladder.  Between  the  joists,  and 
directly  beneath  the  triangle,  could  be  seen  a  sort  of 
panel  composed  of  two  movable  sections,  which,  fitting 
into  each  other,  left  a  round  hole  about  the  size  of  a 
man's  neck.  The  upper  section  of  this  panel  slid  in  a 
groove,  so  that  it  could  be  hoisted  or  lowered  at  will  ; 


WHEN  THE  SUN  HOSE.  115 

for  the  time,  the  two  crescents,  which  formed  the  circle 
when  closed,  were  drawn  apart.  At  the  foot  of  the  two 
posts  supporting  the  triangle  was  a  plank  turning  on 
hinges,  looking  like  a  see-saw.  By  the  side  of  this 
plank  was  a  long  basket  ;  and  between  the  two  beams, 
in  front  and  at  the  extremity  of  the  trestle,  was  a  square 
basket.  The  monster  was  painted  red.  The  whole 
was  made  of  wood  except  the  triangle, —  that  was  iron. 
One  would  have  known  the  thing  must  have  been  con- 
structed by  man,  it  was  so  ugly  and  evil  looking  ;  at  the 
same  time  it  was  so  formidable  that  it  might  have  been 
reared  there  by  evil  genii.  This  shapeless  thing  was 
the  guillotine. 

In  front  of  it,  a  few  paces  off,  another  monster  rose 
out  of  the  ravine  :  La  Tourgue,  —  a  monster  of  stone 
rising  up  to  hold  companionship  with  the  monster 
of  wood.  For  when  man  has  touched  wood  or  stone 
they  no  longer  remain  inanimate  matter  ;  something  of 
man's  spirit  seems  to  enter  into  them.  An  edifice  is  a 
dogma  ;  a  machine,  an  idea.  La  Tourgue  was  that  terri-, 
ble  offspring  of  the  Past  called  the  Bastille  in  Paris,  the 
Tower  of  London  in  England,  the  Spielberg  in  Germany, 
the  Escurial  in  Spain,  the  Kremlin  in  Moscow,  the  Cas- 
tle of  Saint  Angelo  in  Komç. 

In  La  Tourgue  were  condensed  fifteen  hundred 
years  (the  Middle  Age),  vassalage,  servitude,  feudality; 
in  the  guillotine  one  year,  —  '93;  and  these  twelve 
months  made  a  counterpoise  to  those  fifteen  centuries. 
La  Tourgue  was  Monarchy  ;  the  guillotine  was  Eevolu- 
tion, — tragic  confrontation!  On  one  side  the  debtor, 
on  the  other  the  creditor.  On  one  side  the  inextricable 
Gothic  complication  of  serf,  lord,  slave,  master,  plebeian, 
nobility,  the  complex  code  ramifying  into  customs, 
judge  and  priest  in  coalition,  shackles  innumerable, 
fiscal   impositions,   excise   laws,   mortmain,   taxes,    ex- 


116  "  NINETY-THREE. 

emptions,  prerogatives,  prejudices,  fanaticisms,  the  royal 
privilege  of  bankruptcy,  the  sceptre,  the  throne,  the 
regal  will,  the  divine  right;  on  the  other,  this  simple 
thing,  —  a  knife.  On  one  side  the  noose  ;  on  the  other, 
the  axe. 

La  Tourgue  had  long  stood  alone  in  the  midst  of  this 
wilderness.  There  she  had  frowned  with  her  machico- 
lated  casements,  from  whence  had  streamed  boiling  oil, 
blazing  pitch,  and  melted  lead  ;  her  oubliettes  paved 
with  human  skeletons,  her  torture-chamber, —  the  whole 
hideous  tragedy  with  which  she  was  filled.  Eearing 
her  funereal  front  above  the  forest,  she  had  passed  fifteen 
centuries  of  savage  tranquillity  amidst  its  shadows  ;  she 
had  been  the  one  power  in  this  land,  the  one  object  of 
respect  and  fear  ;  she  had  reigned  supreme,  she  had  been 
the  realization  of  barbarism  ;  and  suddenly  she  saw  rise 
before  her  and  against  her,  something  (more  than  some- 
thing) as  terrible  as  herself,  —  the  guillotine. 

Inanimate  objects  sometimes  appear  endowed  with 
a  strange  power  of  sight.  A  statue  notices,  a  tower 
watches,  the  face  of  an  edifice  contemplates.  La  Tourgue 
seemed  to  be  studying  the  guillotine.  She  seemed  to 
question  herself  concerning  it.  What  was  that  object  ? 
It  looked  as  if  it  had  sprung  out  of  the  earth.  It  was 
from  there,  in  truth,  that  it  had  risen.  The  sinister 
tree  had  germinated  in  the  fatal  ground.  Out  of  the  soil 
watered  by  so  much  of  human  sweat,  so  many  tears,  so 
much  blood  ;  out  of  the  earth  in  which  had  been  dug  so 
many  trenches,  so  many  graves,  so  many  caverns,  so  many 
ambuscades  —  out  of  this  earth  wherein  had  rolled  the 
countless  victims  of  countless  tyrannies  —  out  of  this 
earth  spread  above  so  many  abysses  wherein  had  been 
buried  so  many  crimes  (terrible  germs)  had  sprung  in  a 
destined  day  this  unknown,  this  avenger,  this  ferocious 
sword-bearer,  and  '93  had  said  to  the  Old  World,  "  Be- 


WHEN   THE   SUN  ROSE.  117 

hold  me  !  "     And  the  guillotine  had  the  right  to  say  to 
the  donjon  tower,  "  I  am  thy  daughter.  " 

And,  at  the  same  time,  the  tower  —  for  those  fatal 
objects  possess  a  strange  vitality  —  felt  herself  slain  by 
this  newly  risen  force. 

Before  this  formidable  apparition  La  Tourgue  seemed 
to  shudder.  One  might  have  said  that  she  was  afraid. 
The  monstrous  mass  of  granite  was  majestic,  but  infa- 
mous ;  that  plank  with  its  black  triangle  was  worse. 
The  all-powerful  fallen  trembled  before  the  all-power- 
ful risen.  Criminal  history  was  studying  judicial  his- 
tory. The  violence  of  by-gone  days  was  comparing  itself 
with  the  violence  of  the  present;  the  ancient  fortress, 
the  ancient  prison,  the  ancient  seigneury  where  tortured 
victims  had  shrieked  out  their  lives ,  that  construction 
of  war  and  murder,  now  useless,  defenceless,  violated, 
dismantled,  uncrowned,  a  heap  of  stones  with  no  more 
than  a  heap  of  ashes,  hideous  yet  magnificent,  dying, 
dizzy  with  the  awful  memories  of  all  those  by-gone  cen- 
turies, watched  the  terrible  living  Present  sweep  up. 
Yesterday  trembled  before  to-day ,  antique  ferocity  ac- 
knowledged and  bowed  its  head  before  this  fresh  horror. 
The  power  which  was  sinking  into  nothingness  opened 
eyes  of  fright  upon  this  new-born  terror;  the  phantom 
stared  at  the  spectre. 

Nature  is  pitiless  ;  she  never  withdraws  her  flowers, 
her  music,  her  fragrance,  and  her  sunlight  from  before 
human  cruelty  or  suffering.  She  overwhelms  man  by 
the  contrast  between  divine  beauty  and  social  hideous- 
ness.  She  spares  him  nothing  of  her  loveliness,  neither 
wing  of  butterfly  nor  song  of  bird.  In  the  midst  of 
murder,  vengeance,  barbarism,  he  must  feel  himself 
watched  by  holy  things  ;  he  cannot  escape  the  immense 
reproach  of  universal  nature  and  the  implacable  serenity 
of  the  sky.     The  deformity  of  human  laws  is  forced  to 


118  NINETY-THREE. 

exhibit  itself  naked  amidst  the  dazzling  rays  of  eternal 
beauty.  Man  breaks  and  destroys  ;  man  lays  waste  ; 
man  kills;  but  the  summer  remains  summer;  the  lily 
remains  the  lily  ;  the  star  remains  the  star. 

Never  had  a  morning  dawned  fresher  and  more  glori- 
ous than  this.  A  soft  breeze  stirred  the  heath,  a  warm 
haze  rose  amidst  the  branches  ;  the  forest  of  Fougères 
permeated  by  the  breath  of  hidden  brooks,  smoked  in 
the  dawn  like  a  vast  censer  filled  with  perfumes  ;  the 
blue  of  the  firmament,  the  whiteness  of  the  clouds,  the 
transparency  of  the  streams,  the  verdure,  that  harmoni- 
ous gradation  of  colour  from  aqua-marine  to  emerald,  the 
groups  of  friendly  trees,  the  mats  of  grass,  the  peaceful 
fields,  all  breathed  that  purity  which  is  Nature's  eternal 
counsel  to  man.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  rose  the  horri- 
ble front  of  human  shamelessness  ;  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  appeared  the  fortress  and  the  scaffold,  war  and  pun- 
ishment,—  the  incarnations  of  the  bloody  age  and  the 
bloody  moment;  the  owl  of  the  night  of  the  Past  and 
the  bat  of  the  cloud-darkened  dawn  of  the  Future.  And 
blossoming,  odour-giving  creation,  loving  and  charming, 
and  the  grand  sky  golden  with  morning  spread  about 
La  Tourgue  and  the  guillotine,  and  seemed  to  say  to 
man,  "  Behold  my  work  and  yours.  " 

Such  are  the  terrible  reproaches  of  the  sunlight  ! 

This  spectacle  had  its  spectators.  The  four  thousand 
men  of  the  little  expeditionary  army  were  drawn  up 
in  battle  order  upon  the  plateau.  They  surrounded  the 
guillotine  on  three  sides  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form 
about  it  the  shape  of  a  letter  E  ;  the  battery  placed  in 
the  centre  of  the  largest  line  made  the  notch  of  the  E. 
The  red  monster  was  enclosed  by  these  three  battle  fronts  ; 
a  sort  of  wall  of  soldiers  spread  out  on  two  sides  to  the 
edge  of  the  plateau  ;  the  fourth  side,  left  open,  was  the 
ravine,  which  seemed  to  frown  at  La  Tourgue.     These 


WHEN  THE  SUN  ROSE.  119 

arrangements  made  a  long  square,  in  the  centre  of  which 
stood  the  scaffold. 

Gradually,  as  the  sun  mounted  higher,  the  shadow  ol 
the  guillotine  grew  shorter  on  the  turf.  The  gunners 
were  at  their  pieces  ;  the  matches  lighted.  A  faint  blue 
smoke  rose  from  the  ravine,  the  last  breath  of  the  expir- 
ing conflagration.  This  cloud  encircled  without  veiling 
La  Tourgue,  whose  lofty  platform  overlooked  the  whole 
horizon.  There  was  only  the  width  of  the  ravine  be- 
tween the  platform  and  the  guillotine.  The  one  could 
have  parleyed  with  the  other. 

The  table  of  the  tribunal  and  the  chair  shadowed  by 
the  tricoloured  flags  had  been  set  upon  the  platform. 
The  sun  rose  higher  behind  La  Tourgue,  bringing  out 
the  black  mass  of  the  fortress  clear  and  defined,  and  re- 
vealing upon  its  summit  the  figure  of  a  man  in  the  chair 
beneath  the  banners,  sitting  motionless,  his  arms  crossed 
upon  his  breast.  It  was  Cimourdain.  He  wore,  as  on 
the  previous  day,  his  civil  delegate's  dress;  on  his  head 
was  the  hat  with  the  tricoloured  cockade  ;  his  sabre  at 
his  side  ;  his  pistols  in  his  belt.      He  sat  silent. 

The  whole  crowd  was  mute.  The  soldiers  stood  with 
downcast  eyes,  musket  in  hand, —  stood  so  close  that 
their  shoulders  touched  ;  but  no  one  spoke.  They  were 
meditating  confusedly  upon  this  war,  —  the  numberless 
combats,  the  hedge-fusilades  so  bravely  confronted  ;  the 
hosts  of  peasants  driven  back  by  their  might  ;  the  cita- 
dels taken,  the  battles  won,  the  victories  gained  ;  and  it 
seemed  to  them  as  if  all  that  glory  had  turned  now  to 
their  shame.  A  sombre  expectation  contracted  every 
heart.  They  could  see  the  executioner  come  and  go  upon 
the  platform  of  the  guillotine.  The  increasing  splen- 
dour of  the  morning  filled  the  sky  with  its  majesty. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  muffled  drums  broke  the  still- 
ness.    The    furereal    tones   swept  nearer.     The   ranks 


120  NINETY-THREE. 

opened  —  a  cortege  entered  the  square  and  moved  toward 
the  scaffold.  First,  the  drummers  with  their  crape- 
wreathed  drums  ;  then  a  company  of  grenadiers  with 
reversed  arms  ;  then  a  platoon  of  gendarmes  with  drawn 
sabres  ;  then  the  condemned,  —  Gauvain.  He  walked 
forward  with  a  free,  firm  step.  He  had  no  fetters  on 
hands  or  feet.  He  was  in  an  undress  uniform,  and  wore 
his  sword.  Behind  him  marched  another  platoon  of 
gendarmes. 

Gauvain 's  face  was  still  lighted  by  that  pensive  joy 
which  had  illuminated  it  at  the  moment  when  he  said 
to  Cimourdain,  "  I  am  thinking  of  the  Future.  "  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  touching  and  sublime  than  that  smile. 
When  he  reached  the  fatal  square,  his  first  glance  was 
directed  toward  the  summit  of  the  tower.  He  disdained 
the  guillotine.  He  knew  that  Cimourdain  would  make 
it  an  imperative  duty  to  assist  at  the  execution.  His 
eyes  sought  the  platform  ;  he  saw  him  there. 

Cimourdain  was  ghastly  and  cold.  Those  standing 
near  him  could  not  catch  even  the  sound  of  his  breath- 
ing. Not  a  tremor  shook  his  frame  when  he  saw 
Gauvain. 

Gauvain  moved  toward  the  scaffold.  As  he  walked 
on,  he  looked  at  Cimourdain,  and  Cimourdain  looked  at 
him.  It  seemed  as  if  Cimourdain  rested  his  very  soul 
upon  that  clear  glance.  Gauvain  reached  the  foot  of  the 
scaffold.  He  ascended  it.  The  officer  who  commanded 
the  grenadiers  followed  him.  He  unfastened  his  sword, 
and  handed  it  to  the  officer;  he  undid  his  cravat,  and 
gave  it  to  the  executioner.  He  looked  like  a  vision. 
Never  had  he  been  so  handsome.  His  brown  curls 
rloated  in  the  wind  :  at  the  time  it  was  not  the  custom 
to  cut  off  the  hair  of  those  about  to  be  executed.  His 
white  neck  reminded  one  of  a  woman;  his  heroic  and 
sovereign  glance  made  one  think  of  an  archangel.     He 


A   CLAMOUR   ROSE  '     '  MERCY  !    MERCY  !' 


WHEN    THE  SUN  ROSE.  12] 

stood  there  on  the  scaffold  lost  in  thought.  That  place 
of  punishment  was  a  height  too.  Gauvain  stood  upon 
it,  erect,  proud,  tranquil.  The  sunlight  streamed  about 
him  till  he  seemed  to  stand  in  the  midst  of  a  halo.  But 
he  must  be  bound.  The  executioner  advanced,  cord  in 
hand. 

At  this  moment,  when  the  soldiers  saw  their  young 
leader  so  close  to  the  knife,  they  could  restrain  them- 
selves no  longer ,  the  hearts  of  those  stern  warriors  gave 
way,  A  mighty  sound  swelled  up,  —  the  united  sob  of  a 
whole  army.  A  clamour  rose  :  "  Mercy  !  mercy  !  "  Some 
fell  upon  their  knees  ;  others  flung  away  their  guns  and 
stretched  their  arms  toward  the  platform  where  Cimour- 
dain  was  seated.  One  grenadier  pointed  to  the  guillo- 
tine, and  cried,  "  A  substitute  !  A  substitute  !  Take 
me  !  "  All  repeated  frantically,  "  Mercy  !  mercy  !  "  Had 
a  troop  of  lions  heard,  they  must  have  been  softened  or 
terrified ,  the  tears  of  soldiers  are  terrible. 

The  executioner  hesitated,  no  longer  knowing  what 
to  do 

Then  a  voice,  quick  and  low,  but  so  stern  that  it  was 
audible  to  every  ear,  spoke  from  the  top  of  the  tower  : 
"  Fulfil  the  law  ! 

All  recognized  that  inexorable  tone.  Cimourdain  had 
spoken.      The  army  shuddered. 

The  executioner  hesitated  no  longer.  He  approached, 
holding  out  the  cord. 

"  Wait  !  "  said  Gauvain.  He  turned  toward  Cimour- 
dain, made  a  gesture  of  farewell  with  his  right  hand, 
which  was  still  free,  then  allowed  himself  to  be  bound. 

When  he  was  tied,  he  said  to  the  executioner  :  "  Par- 
don. One  instant  more.  "  And  he  cried  :  "  Long  live  the 
Kepublic  !  " 

He  was  laid  upon  the  plank.  That  noble  head  was 
held   by  the  infamous   yoke.      The  executioner  gently 


122  NINETY-THREE. 

parted  His  hair  aside,  then  touched  the  spring.  The 
triangle  began  to  move, —  slowly  at  first,  then  rapidly;  a 
terrible  blow  was  heard  — 

At  the  same  instant  another  report  sounded.  A  pistol 
shot  had  answered  the  blow  of  the  axe.  Cimourdain  had 
seized  one  of  the  pistols  from  his  belt,  and  as  Gauvain's 
head  rolled  into  the  basket,  Cimourdain  sank  back 
pierced  to  the  heart  by  a  bullet  his  own  hand  had  fired, 
A  stream  of  blood  burst  from  his  mouth  ;  he  fell  dead. 

And  those  two  souls,  united  still  in  that  tragic  death, 
soared  away  together,  the  shadow  of  the  one  mingled  with 
the  radiance  of  the  other. 


THE  END 


BUG-JARGAI* 


BUG-JARGAL. 


PEOLOGUE. 

WHEN"  it  came  to  the  turn  of  Captain  Leopold 
d'Auverney,  he  gazed  around  him  with  surprise, 
and  hurriedly  assured  his  comrades  that  he  did  not 
remember  any  incident  in  his  life  that  was  worthy  of 
repetition. 

"But,  Captain  d'Auverney,"  objected  Lieutenant 
Henri,  "  you  have  —  at  least  report  says  so  —  travelled 
much,  and  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world  ;  have  you  not 
been  to  the  Antilles,  to  Africa,  and  to  Italy  ?  and  above 
all,  you  have  been  in  Spain.  But  see,  here  is  your  lame 
dog  come  back  again  !  " 

D'Auverney  started,  let  fall  the  cigar  that  he  was 
smoking,  and  turned  quickly  to  the  tent  door,  at  which 
an  enormous  dog  appeared,   limping  towards   him. 

In  another  instant  the  dog  was  licking  his  feet,  wagging 
his  tail,  whining,  and  gambolling  as  well  as  he  was  able  ; 
and  by  every  means  testifying  his  delight  at  finding  his 
master;  and  at  last,  as  if  he  felt  that  he  had  done  all 
that  could  be  required  of  a  dog,  he  curled  himself  up 
peaceably  before  his  master's  seat. 

Captain  d'Auverney  was  much  moved,  but  he  strove 
to  conceal  his  feelings,  and  mechanically  caressed  the 
dog  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  played 
with  the  chin-strap  of  his  shako,  murmuring  from  time 


4  BUG-JAllGAL, 

to  time,  "  So  here  you  are  once  again,  Rask,  here  you 
are  !  "  Then,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  ex- 
claimed aloud,  "  But  who  has  brought  him  back  ?  " 

"  By  your  leave,  Captain  —  " 

For  the  last  few  seconds  Sergeant  Thaddeus  had  been 
standing  at  the  door  of  the  tent,  the  curtain  of  which 
he  was  holding  back  with  his  left  hand,  while  his  right 
was  thrust  into  the  bosom  of  his  great -coat.  Tears  were 
in  his  eyes  as  he  contemplated  the  meeting  of  the 
dog  and  his  master,  and  at  last,  unable  to  keep  si- 
lence any  longer,  he  risked  the  words,  "  By  your  leave, 
Captain.  " 

D'Auverney  raised  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  it  is  you,  Thaddeus^?  and  how  the  deuce  have 
you  been  able  —  eh  ?  Poor  dog,  poor  Eask  !  I  thought 
that  you  were  in  the  English  camp.  Where  did  you 
find  him,   Sergeant  ?  " 

"  Thanks  be  to  Heaven,  Captain,  you  see  me  as  happy 
as  your  little  nephew  used  to  be  when  you  let  him  off 
his  Latin  lesson.  " 

a  But  tell  me,  where  did  you  find  him?  " 

"  I  did  not  find  him,  Captain  ;  I  went  to  look  for 
him." 

Captain  d'Auverney  rose,  and  offered  his  hand  to  the 
sergeant,  but  the  latter  still  kept  his  in  the  bosom  of 
his  coat. 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  was  —  at  least,  Captain,  since  poor 
Rask  was  lost,  I  noticed  that  you  were  like  a  man  beside 
himself;  so  when  I  baw  that  he  did  not  come  to  me  in 
the  evening,  according  to  his  custom,  for  his  share  of 
my  ration  bread,  —  which  made  old  Thaddeus  weep  like 
a  child  ;  I,  who  before  that  had  only  wept  twice  in  my 
life,  the  first  time  when  —  yes,  the  day  when  —  "  and 
the  sergeant  cast  a  sad  look  upon  his  captain.  K  Well, 
thf^  second  was  when  that  scamp  Balthazar,  the  corporal 


BUG-JARGAL.  Ô 

of  the  Seventh  half  brigade,  persuaded  me  to  peel  a  bunch 
of  onions.  " 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Thaddeus,  "  cried  Henri,  with  a 
laugh,  "  that  you  avoid  telling  us  what  was  the  first 
occasion  upon  which  you  shed  tears.  " 

"  It  was  doubtless,  old  comrade,  *  said  the  captain 
kindly,  as  he  patted  Kask's  head,  "  when  you  answered 
the  roll-call  as  Tour  d'Auvergne,  the  first  grenadier  of 
France.  " 

"  No,  no,  Captain  ;  if  Sergeant  Thaddeus  wept,  it  was 
when  he  gave  the  order  to  fire  on  Bug-Jargal,  otherwise 
called  Pierrot.  " 

A  cloud  gathered  on  the  countenance  of  D'Auverney, 
then  he  again  endeavoured  to  clasp  the  sergeant's  hand  ; 
but  in  spite  of  the  honour  that  was  attempted  to  be 
conferred  on  him,  the  old  man  still  kept  his  hand  hid- 
den under  his  coat. 

"Yes,  Captain,"  continued  Thaddeus,  drawing ,  back  a 
step  or  two,  while  D'Auverney  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him 
with  a  strange  and  sorrowful  expression, —  "  yes,  I  wept 
for  him  that  day,  and  he  well  deserved  it.  He  was 
black,  it  is  true,  but  gunpowder  is  black  also;  and  — 
and  —  " 

The  good  sergeant  would  fain  have  followed  out  his 
strange  comparison,  for  there  was  evidently  something 
in  the  idea  that  pleased  him  ;  but  he  utterly  failed  to 
put  his  thoughts  into  words,  and  after  having  attacked 
his  idea  on  every  side,  as  a  general  would  a  fortified 
place,  and  failed,  he  raised  the  siege,  and  without  notic- 
ing the  smiles  of  his  officers,  he  continued  :  — 

"  Tell  me,  Captain,  do  you  recollect  how  that  poor 
negro  arrived  all  out  of  breath,  at  the  moment  when 'his 
ten  comrades  were  waiting  on  the  spot  ?  We  had  had  to 
tie  them  though.  It  was  I  who  commanded  the  party  ; 
and  with  his  own  hands  ^e  untied  them,  and  took  their 


6  BUG-JARGAL. 

place,  although  they  did  all  that  they  could  to  dissuade 
him;  but  he  was  inflexible.  Ah,  what  a  man  he  was; 
you  might  as  well  have  tried  to  move  Gibraltar  !  And 
then,  Captain,  he  drew  himself  up  as  if  he  were  going  to 
enter  a  ball-room,  and  this  dog,  who  knew  well  enough 
what  was  coming,  flew  at  my  throat  —  " 

"  Generally,  Thaddeus,  at  this  point  of  your  story 
you  pat  Eask,  "  interrupted  the  captain  ;  "  see  how  he 
looks  at  you.  " 

"  You  are  right,  sir,  "  replied  Thaddeus,  with  an  air 
of  embarrassment  ;  "  he  does  look  at  me,  poor  fellow  ;  but 
the  old  woman  Malajuda  told  me  it  was  unlucky  to  pat 
a  dog  with  the  left  hand,  and  —  " 

"  And  why  not  with  your  right,  pray  ?  "  asked 
D'Auverney,  for  the  first  time  noticing  the  sergeant's 
pallor,   and  the  hand  reposing  in  his  bosom. 

The  sergeant's  discomfort  appeared  to  increase.  "  By 
your  leave,  Captain,  it  is  because  —  well,  you  have  got 
a  lame  dog,  and  now  there  is  a  chance  of  your  having  a 
one-handed  sergeant.  " 

"  A  one-handed  sergeant  1  What  do  you  mean?  Let 
me  see  your  arm.      One  hand  !     Great  heavens  !  " 

D'Auverney  trembled,  as  the  sergeant  slowly  with- 
drew his  hand  from  his  bosom,  and  showed  it  enveloped 
in  a  blood-stained  handkerchief. 

"This  is  terrible,"  exclaimed  D'Auverney,  carefully 
undoing  the  bandage.  "  But  tell  me,  old  comrade,  how 
this  happened.  " 

"  As  for  that,  the  thing  is  simple  enough.  I  told  you 
how  I  had  noticed  your  grief  since  those  confounded 
English  had  taken  away  your  dog, — poor  Eask,  Bug's 
dog.  I  made  up  my  mind  to-day  to  bring  him  back, 
even  if  it  cost  me  my  life,  so  that  you  might  eat  a  good 
supper.  After  having  told  Mathelet,  your  bât  man,  to 
get  out  and  brush  your  full-dress  uniform,  as  we  are  to 


BUG-JARGAL.  7 

go  into  action  to-morrow,  I  crept  quietly  out  of  camp, 
armed  only  with  my  sabre,  and  crouched  und.r  tne 
hedges  until  I  neared  the  English  camp.  I  had  not 
passed  the  first  trench  when  I  saw  a  whole  crowd  of  red 
soldiers.  I  crept  on  quietly  to  see  what  they  were  do- 
ing, and  in  the  midst  oi  them  I  perceived  Eask  tied  to 
a  tree  ;  while  two  of  the  milords,  stripped  to  here,  were 
knocking  each  other  about  with  their  fists,  until  their 
bones  sounded  like  the  big  drum  of  the  regiment.  They 
were  fighting  for  your  dog.  But  when  Eask  caught 
sight  of  me,  he  gave  such  a  bound  that  the  rope  broke, 
and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  rogue  was  after  me. 
I  did  not  stop  to  explain,  but  off  I  ran,  with  all  the 
English  at  my  heels.  A  regular  hail  of  balls  whistled 
past  my  ears.  Eask  barked,  but  they  could  not  hear 
him  for  their  shouts  of  '  French  dog  !  French  dog  Î  '  just 
as  if  Eask  was  not  of  the  pure  St.  Domingo  breed.  In 
spite  of  all  I  crushed  through  the  thicket,  and  had 
almost  got  clean  away  when  two  red  coats  confronted 
me,  My  sabre  accounted  for  one,  and  would  have  rid 
me  of  the  other  had  his  pistol  not  unluckily  had  a  bul- 
let in  it.  My  right  arm  suffered  ;  but  '  French  dog  ' 
leapt  at  his  throat,  as  if  he  were  an  old  acquaintance. 
Down  fell  the  Englishman,  for  the  embrace  was  so  tight 
that  he  was  strangled  in  a  moment,  —  and  here  we  both 
are.  My  only  regret  is  that  I  did  not  get  my  wound  in 
to-morrow's  battle." 

"  Thaddeus,  Thaddeus  !  "  exclaimed  the  captain  in 
tones  of  reproach  ;  "  were  you  mad  enough  to  expose 
your  life  thus  for  a  dog?  " 

*  It  was  not  for  a  dog,  it  was  for  Rask.  " 

D'Auverney's  face  softened  as  Thaddeus  added  :  *  Foi 
Rask,  for  Bug's  dog.  " 

K  Enough,  enough,  old  comrade  Î  *  cried  the  captain, 


8  BUG-JAKGAL. 

dashing  his  hand  across  his  eyes  ;  "  come,  lean  on  me, 
and  I  will  lead  you  to  the  hospital.  " 

Thaddeus  essayed  to  decline  the  honour,  but  in  vain  ; 
and  as  they  left  the  tent  the  dog  got  up  and  followed 
them. 

This  little  drama  had  excited  the  curiosity  of  the 
spectators  to  the  highest  degree.  Captain  Leopold 
d'Auverney  was  one  of  those  men  who,  in  whatever 
position  the  chances  of  nature  and  society  may  place 
them,  always  inspire  a  mingled  feeling  of  interest  and 
respect.  At  the  first  glimpse  there  was  nothing  strik- 
ing in  him,  —  his  manner  was  reserved,  and  his  look 
cold.  The  tropical  sun,  though  it  had  browned  his 
cheek,  had  not  imparted  to  him  that  vivacity  of  speech 
and  gesture  which  among  the  Creoles  is  united  to  an 
easy  carelessness  of  demeanour,  in  itself  full  of  charm. 

D'Auverney  spoke  little,  listened  less,  but  showed 
himself  ready  to  act  at  any  moment  Always  the  first 
in  the  saddle,  and  the  last  to  return  to  camp,  he  seemed 
to  seek  a  refuge  from  his  thoughts  in  bodily  fatigue. 
These  thoughts,  which  had  marked  his  brow  with  many 
a  premature  wrinkle,  were  not  of  the  kind  that  you  can 
get  rid  of  by  confiding  them  to  a  friend  ;  nor  could  they 
be  discussed  in  idle  conversation.  Leopold  d'Auverney, 
whose  body  the  hardships  of  war  could  not  subdue, 
seemed  to  experience  a  sense  of  insurmountable  fatigue 
in  what  is  termed  the  conflict  of  the  feelings.  He 
avoided  argument  as  much  as  he  sought  warfare.  If  at 
any  time  he  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  a  discus- 
sion, he  would  utter  a  few  words  full  of  common-sense 
and  reason,  and  then  at  the  moment  of  triumph  over  his 
antagonist  he  would  stop  short,  and  muttering  "  What 
good  is  it  ?  w  would  saunter  off  to  the  commanding  offi- 
cer to  glean  what  information  he  could  regarding  the 
enemy's  movements.     His  comrades  forgave  his  cold 


BUG-JARGAL.  9 

reserved,  and  silent  habits,  because  upon  every  occasion 
they  had  found  him  kind,  gentle,  and  benevolent.  He 
had  saved  many  a  life  at  the  risk  of  his  own,  and  they 
well  knew  that  though  his  mouth  was  rarely  opened, 
yet  his  purse  was  never  closed  when  a  comrade  had  need 
of  his  assistance. 

D'Auverney  was  young;  many  would  have  guessed 
him  at  thirty  years  of  age,  but  they  would  have  been 
wrong,  for  he  was  some  years  under  it.  Although  he 
had  for  a  long  period  fought  in  the  ranks  of  the  Repub- 
lican  army,  yet  all  were  in  ignorance  of  his  former  life. 
The  only  one  to  whom  he  seemed  ever  to  open  his  heart 
was  Sergeant  Thaddeus,  who  had  joined  the  regiment 
with  him,  and  would  at  times  speak  vaguely  of  sad 
events  in  his  early  life,  It  was  known  that  D'Auverney 
had  undergone  great  misfortunes  in  America;  that  he 
had  been  married  ir.  St.  Domingo,  and  that  his  wife  and 
all  his  family  had  perished  in  those  terrible  massacres 
which  had  marked  the  Republican  invasion  of  that  mag- 
nificent colony.  At  the  time  of  which  we  write,  misfor- 
tunes of  this  kind  were  so  general  that  any  one  could 
sympathize  with,  and  feel  pity  for,  such  sufferers. 

D'Auverney,  therefore,  was  pitied  less  for  his  mis- 
fortunes than  for  the  manner  in  which  they  had  been 
brought  about.  Beneath  his  icy  mask  of  indifference 
the  traces  of  the  incurably  wounded  spirit  could  be  at 
times  perceived.  When  he  went  into  action  his  calm- 
ness returned,  and  in  the  fight  he  behaved  as  if  he 
sought  for  the  rank  of  general  ;  while  after  victory  he 
was  as  gentle  and  unassuming  as  if  the  position  of  a 
private  soldier  would  have  satisfied  his  ambition.  His 
comrades,  seeing  him  thus  despise  honour  and  promo- 
tion, could  not  understand  what  it  was  that  lighted  up 
his  countenance  with  a  ray  of  hop  when  the  action 
commenced,  and  they  did  not  for  a  moment  divine  that 


10  BUG-JARGAL. 

the  prize  D  ' Auverney  was  striving  to  gain  was  simply  — ■ 
death. 

The  Eepresentatives  of  the  People,  in  one  of  their 
missions  to  the  army,  had  appointed  him  a  Chief  of 
Brigade  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  but  he  had  declined  the 
honour  upon  learning  that  it  would  remove  him  from 
his  old  comrade  Sergeant  Thaddeus.  Some  days  after- 
wards, having  returned  from  a  dangerous  expedition  safe 
and  sound,  contrary  to  the  general  expectation  and  his 
own  hopes,  he  was  heard  to  regret  the  rank  that  he  had 
refused.  "For,"  said  he,  "since  the  enemy's  guns 
always  spare  me,  perhaps  the  guillotine,  which  ever 
strikes  down  those  it  has  raised,  would  in  time  have 
claimed  me.  " 

Such  was  the  character  of  the  man  upon  whom 
the  conversation  turned  as  soon  as  he  had  left  the 
tent. 

"  I  would  wager,  "  cried  Lieutenant  Henri,  wiping  a 
splash  of  mud  off  his  boot  which  the  dog  had  left  as  he 
passed  him,  —  "1  would  wager  that  the  captain  would 
not  exchange  the  broken  paw  of  his  dog  for  the  ten  bas- 
kets of  Madeira  that  we-  caught  a  glimpse  of  in  the  gen- 
eral's wagon.  " 

"  Bah  !  "  cried  Paschal  the  aide-de-camp,  "  that  would 
be  a  bad  bargain  :  the  baskets  are  empty  by  now,  and 
thirty  empty  bottles  would  be  a  poor  price  for  a  dog's  paw  ; 
why,  you  might  make  a  good  bell-handle  out  of  it.  " 

They  all  laughed  at  the  grave  manner  in  which  Pas- 
chal pronounced  these  words,  with  the  exception  of  a 
young  officer  of  Hussars  named  Alfred,  who  remarked, — 

"  I  do  not  see  any  subject  for  chaff  in  this  matter, 
gentlemen.  This  sergeant  and  dog,  who  are  always  at 
D 'Auverney 's  heels  ever  since  I  have  known  him,  seem 
to  me  more  the  objects  of  sympathy  than  raillery,  and 
interest  me  greatly.  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  11 

Paschal,  annoyed  that  his  wit  had  missed  fire,  inter- 
rupted him  :  "  It  certainly  is  a  most  sentimental  scene , 
a  lost  dog  found,  and  a  broken  arm  —  " 

"  Captain  Paschal,  "  said  Henri,  throwing  an  empty 
bottle  outside  the  tent,  "  you  are  wrong  ;  this  Bug, 
otherwise  called  Pierrot,  excites  my  curiosity  greatly.  " 

At  this  moment  D'Auverney  returned,  and  sat  down 
without  uttering  a  word.  His  manner  was  still  sad,  but 
his.  face  was  more  calm  ;  he  seemed  not  to  have  heard 
what  was  said.  Pask,  who  had  followed  him,  lay  down 
at  his  feet,  but  kept  a  watchful  eye  on  his  master's 
comrades. 

"  Pass  your  glass,  Captain  D'Auverney,  and  taste 
this.  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  "  replied  the  captain,  evidently  im- 
agining that  he  was  answering  a  question,  "  the  wound 
is  not  dangerous;  there  is  no  bone  broken.  " 

The  respect  which  all  felt  for  D'Auverney  prevented 
a  burst  of  laughter  at  this  reply. 

"  Since  your  mind  is  at  rest  regarding  Thaddeus's 
wound,  "  said  Henri,  "  and,  as  you  may  remember,  we 
entered  into  an  agreement  to  pass  away  the  hours  of 
bivouac  by  relating  to  one  another  our  adventures,  will 
you  carry  out  your  promise  by  telling  us  the  history  of 
your  lame  dog,  and  of  Bug,  —  otherwise  called  Pierrot, 
that  regular  Gibraltar  of  a  man?  " 

To  this  request,  which  was  put  in  a  semi -jocular  tone, 
D'Auverney  at  last  yielded. 

"  I  will  do  what  you  ask,  gentlemen,"  said  he;  "  but 
you  must  only  expect  a  very  simple  tale,  in  which  I 
play  an  extremely  second-rate  part.  If  the  affection 
that  exists  between  Thaddeus,  Eask,  and  myself  leads 
you  to  expect  anything  very  wonderful,  I  fear  that 
you  will  be  greatly  disappointed.  However,  I  will 
begin.  " 


12  BUG-JARGAL. 

For  a  moment  D'Auverney  relapsed  into  thought,  as 
though  he  wished  to  recall  past  events  which  had  long 
since  been  replaced  in  his  memory  by  the  acts  of  his 
later  years  ;  but  at  last,  in  a  low  voice  and  with  fre- 
quent pauses,  he  began  his  tale. 


CHAPTEE  I 

I  WAS  born  in  France,  but  at  an  early  age  I  was  sent 
to  St.  Domingo,  to  the  care  of  an  uncle,  to  whose 
daughter  it  had  been  arranged  between  our  parents  that 
I  was  to  be  married.  My  uncle  was  one  of  the  wealthi- 
est colonists,  and  possessed  a  magnificent  house  and 
extensive  plantations  in  the  Plains  of  Acul,  near  Fort 
Galifet.  The  position  of  the  estate,  which  no  doubt 
you  wonder  at  my  describing  so  minutely,  was  one  of 
the  causes  of  all  our  disasters,  and  the  eventual  total 
ruin  of  our  whole  family. 

Eight  hundred  negro  slaves  cultivated  the  enormous 
domains  of  my  uncle.  Sad  as  the  position  of  a  slave  is, 
my  uncle's  hardness  of  heart  added  much  to  the  unhap- 
piness  of  those  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  his  prop- 
erty. My  uncle  was  one  of  the  happily  small  number 
of  planters  from  whom  despotic  power  had  taken  away 
the  gentler  feelings  of  humanity.  He  was  accustomed 
to  see  his  most  trifling  command  unhesitatingly  obeyed, 
and  the  slightest  delay  on  the  part  of  his  slaves  in  car- 
rying it  out  was  punished  with  the  harshest  severity  ; 
while  the  intercession  either  of  my  cousin  or  of  myself 
too  often  merely  led  to  an  increase  of  the  punishment, 
and  we  were  only  too  often  obliged  to  rest  satisfied  by 
secretly  assuaging  the  injuries  which  we  were  powerless 
to  prevent. 

Among  the  multitude  of  his  slaves,  one  only  had 
found  favour  in  my  uncle's  sight;  this  was  a  half-caste 
Spanish  dwarf,  who  had  been  given  him  by  Lord  Effing- 


14  BUG-JARGAL. 

ham,  the  Governor  of  Jamaica.  My  uncle,  who  had  foi 
many,  years  resided  in  Brazil,  and  had  adopted  the  luxu- 
rious habits  of  the  Portuguese,  loved  to  surround  him 
self  with  an  establishment  that  was  in  keeping  with  his 
wealth.  In  order  that  nothing  should  be  wanting,  he 
had  made  the  slave  presented  to  him  by  Lord  Effingham 
his  fool,  in  imitation  of  the  feudal  lords  who  had  jesters 
attached  to  their  households.  I  must  say  that  the  slave 
amply  fulfilled  all  the  required  conditions. 

Habibrah,  for  that  was  the  half-caste's  name,  was  one 
of  those  strangely  formed,  or  rather  deformed,  beings 
who  would  be  looked  upon  as  monsters  if  their  very 
hideousness  did  not  cause  a  laugh.  This  ill-featured 
dwarf  was  short  and  fat,  and  moved  with  wondrous  ac- 
tivity upon  a  pair  of  slender  limbs,  which,  when  he  sat 
down,  bent  under  him  like  the  legs  of  a  spider.  His 
enormous  head,  covered  with  a  mass  of  red  curly  wool, 
was  stuck  between  his  shoulders,  while  his  ears  were  so 
large  that  Habibrah 's  comrades  were  in  the  habit  of 
saying  that  he  used  them  to  wipe  his  eyes  when  he 
wept.  On  his  face  there  was  always  a  grin,  which  was 
continually  changing  its  character,  and  which  caused 
his  ugliness  to  be  of  an  ever-varying  description.  My 
uncle  was  fond  of  him,  because  of  his  extreme  hideous- 
ness and  his  inextinguishable  gayety.  Habibrah  was 
his  only  favourite,  and  led  a  life  of  ease,  while  the  other 
slaves  were  overwhelmed  with  work.  The  sole  duties 
of  the  jester  were  to  carry  a  large  fan,  made  of  the 
feathers  of  the  bird  of  paradise,  to  keep  away  the  sand- 
flies and  the  mosquitoes  from  his  master.  At  meal- 
times he  sat  upon  a  reed  mat  at  his  master's  feet,  who 
fed  him  with  tit-bits  from  his  own  plate.  Habibrah  ap- 
peared to  appreciate  all  these  acts  of  kindness,  and  at 
the  slightest  sign  from  my  uncle  he  would  run  to  him 
with  the  agility  of  a  monkey  and  the  docility  of  a  dog. 


BUG-JAEGAL.  15 

I  had  imbibed  a  prejudice  against  my  uncle's  favour- 
ite slave.  There  was  something  crawling  in  his  ser- 
vility ;  for  though  outdoor  slavery  does  not  dishonour, 
domestic  service  too  often  debases.  I  felt  a  sentiment 
of  pity  for  those  slaves  who  toiled  in  the  scorching  sun, 
with  scarcely  a  vestige  of  clothing  to  hide  their  chains  ; 
but  I  despised  this  idle  serf,  with  his  garments  orna- 
mented with  gold  lace  and  adorned  with  bells.  Besides 
the  dwarf  never  made  use  of  his  influence  with  his  mas- 
ter to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  his  fellow-sufferers; 
on  the  contrary,  I  heard  him  once,  when  he  thought 
that  he  and  his  master  were  alone,  urge  him  to  increase 
his  severity  towards  his  ill-fated  comrades.  The  other 
slaves,  however,  did  not  appear  to  look  upon  him  with 
any  feelings  of  anger  or  rancour,  but  treated  him  with  a 
timid  kind  of  respect;  and  when,  dressed  in  all  the 
splendour  of  laced  garments  and  a  tall  pointed  cap  orna- 
mented with  bells,  and  quaint  symbols  traced  upon  it 
in  red  ink,  he  walked  past  their  huts,  I  have  heard 
them  murmur  in  accents  of  awe,  "  He  is  an  obi n 
(sorcerer). 

These  details,  to  which  I  now  draw  your  attention, 
occupied  my  mind  but  little  then.  I  had  given  myself 
up  entirely  to  the  emotion  of  a  pure  love,  in  which 
nothing  else  could  mingle,  —  a  love  which  was  returned 
me  with  passion  by  the  girl  to  whom  I  was  betrothed, 
—  and  I  gave  little  heed  to  anything  that  was  not  Marie. 
Accustomed  from  youth  to  look  upon  her  as  the  future 
companion  of  my  life,  there  was  a  curious  mixture  of 
the  love  of  a  brother  for  a  sister,  mingled  with  the  pas- 
sionate adoration  of  a  betrothed  lover. 

Few  men  have  spent  their  earlier  years  more  happily 
than  I  have  done,  or  have  felt  their  souls  expand  into 
life  in  the  midst  of  a  delicious  climate  and  all  the  luxu- 
ries which  wealth  could  procure,  with  perfect  happiness 


16  BUG-JARGAL. 

in  the  present  and  the  brightest  hopes  for  the  future. 
No  man,  as  I  said  before,  could  have  spent  his  earlier 
years  more  happily  — 

[D'Auverney  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  these  thoughts 
of  by-gone  happiness  had  stifled  his  voice,  and  then 
added  :] 

And  no  one  could  have  passed  his  later  ones  in  more 
profound  misery  and  affliction. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  the  midst  of  these  blind  illusions  and  hopes,  my 
twentieth  birthday  approached.  It  was  now  the 
month  of  August,  1791,  and  my  uncle  had  decided  that 
this  should  be  the  date  of  my  marriage  with  Marie. 
You  can  well  understand  that  the  thoughts  of  happiness, 
now  so  near,  absorbed  all  my  faculties,  and  how  little 
notice  I  took  of  the  political  crisis  which  was  then  felt 
throughout  the  colony.  I  will  not,  therefore,  speak  of 
the  Count  de  Pernier,  or  of  M.  de  Blanchelande,  nor  of 
the  tragical  death  of  the  unfortunate  Colonel  de  Mar- 
chiste  ;  nor  will  I  attempt  to  describe  the  jealousies  of 
the  Provincial  House  of  Assembly  of  the  North,  and  the 
Colonial  Assembly  (which  afterwards  called  itself  the 
General  Assembly,  declaring  that  the  word  "  Colonial  " 
had  a  ring  of  slavery  in  it).  For  my  own  part,  I  sided 
with  neither  ;  but  if  I  did  espouse  any  cause,  it  was  in 
favour  of  Cap,  near  which  town  my  home  was  situate, 
in  opposition  to  Port  au  Prince. 

Only  once  did  I  mix  myself  up  in  the  question  of  the 
day.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  disastrous  decree  of 
the  15th  of  May,  1791,  by  which  the  National  Assem- 
bly of  France  admitted  free  men  of  colour  to  enjoy  the 
same  political  privileges  as  the  whites.  At  a  ball  given 
by  the  Governor  of  Cap,  many  of  the  younger  colonists 
spoke  in  impassioned  terms  of  this  law,  which  levelled 
so  cruel  a  blow  at  the  instincts  of  supremacy  assumed 
by  the  whites,  with  perhaps  too  little  foundation.     I 


18  BUG-JARGAL. 

had,  as  yet,  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation,  when  1 
saw  approaching  the  group  a  wealtny  planter,  whose 
doubtful  descent  caused  him  to  be  received  merely  upon 
sufferance  by  the  white  society.  I  stepped  in  front  of 
him,  and  in  a  haughty  voice  I  exclaimed,  "  Pass  on, 
sir  !  pass  on  !  or  you  may  hear  words  which  would  cer- 
tainly be  disagreeable  to  those  with  mixed  blood  in  their 
veins.  "  He  was  so  enraged  at  this  insinuation  that 
he  challenged  me.  We  fought,  and  each  was  slightly 
wounded.  I  confess  that  I  was  in  the  wrong  to  have  thus 
provoked  him,  and  it  is  probable  that  I  should  not  have 
done  so  on  a  mere  question  of  colour;  but  I  had  for  some 
time  past  noticed  that  he  had  had  the  audacity  to  pay 
certain  attentions  to  my  cousin,  and  had  danced  with 
her  the  very  night  upon  which  I  had  insulted  him. 

However,  as  time  went  on,  and  the  date  so  ardently 
desired  approached,  I  was  a  perfect  stranger  to  the  state 
of  political  ferment  in  which  those  around  me  lived  ; 
and  I  never  perceived  the  frightful  cloud  which  already 
almost  obscured  the  horizon,  and  which  promised  a 
storm  that  would  sweep  all  before  it.  No  one  at  that 
time  thought  seriously  of  a  revolt  among  the  slaves,  — 
a  class  too  much  despised  to  be  feared  ;  but  between  the 
whites  and  the  free  mulattoes  there  was  sufficient  hatred 
to  cause  an  outbreak  at  any  moment,  which  might  entail 
the  most  disastrous  consequences. 

During  the  first  days  of  August  a  strange  incident 
occurred,  which  threw  a  slight  shade  of  uneasiness  oveï 
the  sunshine  of  my  happiness. 


CHAPTEE  IIL 

ON  the  banks  of  a  little  river  which  flowed  through 
my  uncle's  estate  was  a  small  rustic  pavilion  in 
the  midst  of  a  clump  of  trees.  Marie  was  in  the  habit 
of  coming  here  every  day  to  enjoy  the  sea  breeze,  which 
blows  regularly  in  St.  Domingo,  even  during  the  hottest 
months  of  the  year,  from  sunrise  until  evening.  Each 
morning  it  was  my  pleasant  task  to  adorn  this  charming 
retreat  with  the  sweetest  flowers  that  I  could  gather. 

One  morning  Marie  came  running  to  me  in  a  great 
state  of  alarm.  Upon  entering  her  leafy  retreat  she 
had  perceived,  with  surprise  and  terror,  all  the  flowers 
which  I  had  arranged  in  the  morning  thrown  upon  the 
ground  and  trampled  under  foot,  and  a  bunch  of  wild 
marigolds,  freshly  gathered,  placed  upon  her  accustomed 
seat.  She  had  hardly  recovered  from  her  terror,  when, 
in  the  adjoining  coppice,  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  guitar, 
and  a  voice,  which  was  not  mine,  commenced  singing  a 
Spanish  song  ;  but  in  her  excitement  she  had  been  un- 
able to  catch  the  meaning  of  the  words,  though  she  could 
hear  her  own  name  frequently  repeated.  Then  she  had 
taken  to  flight,  and  had  come  to  me  full  of  this  strange 
and  surprising  event. 

This  recital  filled  me  with  jealousy  and  indignation. 
My  first  suspicions  pointed  to  the  mulatto  with  whom 
I  had  fought  ;  but  even  in  the  midst  of  my  perplexity  I 
resolved  to  do  nothing  rashly.  I  soothed  Marie's  fears 
as  best  I  could,  and  promised  to  watch  over  her  without 


20  BUG^JARGAL. 

ceasing,  until  the  marriage  tie  would  give  me  the  right 
of  never  leaving  her. 

Believing  that  the  intruder  whose  insolence  had  so 
alarmed  Marie  would  not  content  himself  with  what  he 
had  already  done,  I  concealed  myself  that  very  evening 
near  the  portion  of  the  house  in  which  my  betrothed 's 
chamber  was  situated. 

Hidden  among  the  tall  stalks  of  the  sugar-cane,  and 
armed  with  a  dagger,  I  waited;  and  I  did  not  wait  in 
vain.  Towards  the  middle  of  the  night  my  attention 
was  suddenly  attracted  by  the  notes  of  a  guitar  under 
the  very  window  of  the  room  in  which  Marie  reposed. 
Furious  with  rage,  with  my  dagger  clutched  firmly  in 
my  hand,  I  rushed  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  crush- 
ing beneath  my  feet  the  brittle  stalks  of  the  sugar-canes. 
All  of  a  sudden  I  felt  myself  seized  and  thrown  upon 
my  back  with  what  appeared  to  be  superhuman  force  ; 
my  dagger  was  wrenched  from  my  grasp,  and  I  saw  its 
point  shining  above  me  ;  at  the  same  moment  I  could 
perceive  a  pair  of  eyes  and  a  double  row  of  white  teeth 
gleaming  through  the  darkness,  while  a  voice,  in  accents 
of  concentrated  rage,  muttered,  "  Te  tengo,  te  tengo  I  " 
.(I  have  you,  I  have  you). 

More  astonished  than  frightened,  I  struggled  vainly 
with  my  formidable  antagonist,  and  already  the  point 
of  the  dagger  had  pierced  my  clothes,  when  Marie, 
whom  the  sound  of  the  guitar  and  the  noise  of  the  strug- 
gle had  aroused,  appeared  suddenly  at  her  window.  She 
recognized  my  voice,  saw  the  gleam  of  the  knife,  and 
uttered  a  cry  of  terror  and  affright.  This  cry  seemed  to 
paralyze  the  hand  of  my  opponent.  He  stopped  as  if 
petrified;  but  still,  as  though  undecided,  he  kept  the 
point  of  the  dagger  pressed  upon  my  chest.  Then  he  sud- 
denly exclaimed  in  French,  "  No,  I  cannot  ;  she  would 
weep  too  much,  "  and,  casting  away  the  weapon,  rose  to 


BUG-JARGAL.  21 

his  feet,  and  in  an  instant  disappeared  in  the  canes  ;  and 
before  I  could  rise,  bruised  and  shaken  from  the  strug- 
gle, no  sound  and  no  sign  remained  of  the  presence  or 
the  flight  of  my  adversary. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  could  recover  my  scattered 
faculties.  I  was  more  furious  than  ever  with  my  un- 
known rival,  and  was  overcome  with  a  feeling  of  shame 
at  being  indebted  to  him  for  my  life.  "  After  all,  how- 
ever, "  I  thought,  "  it  is  to  Marie  that  I  owe  it  ;  for  it 
was  the  sound  of  her  voice  that  caused  him  to  drop  his 
dagger.  " 

And  yet  I  could  not  hide  from  myself  that  there  was 
something  noble  in  the  sentiment  which  had  caused  my 
unknown  rival  to  spare  me.  But  who  could  he  be  ? 
One  supposition  after  another  rose  in  my  mind,  all  to 
be  discarded  in  turn.  It  could  not  be  the  mulatto  plan- 
ter to  whom  my  suspicions  had  first  been  directed.  He 
was  not  endowed  with  such  muscular  power  ;  nor  was  it 
his  voice.  The  man  with  whom  I  had  struggled  was 
naked  to  the  waist  ;  slaves  alone  went  about  half -clothed 
in  this  manner.  But  this  could  not  be  a  slave  ;  the  feel- 
ing which  had  caused  him  to  throw  away  the  dagger 
would  not  have  been  found  in  the  bosom  of  a  slave,  — 
and  besides,  my  whole  soul  revolted  at  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing a  slave  for  a  rival.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  I  deter* 
mined  to  wait  and  watch. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

MAEIE  had  awakened  her  old  nurse,  whom  she 
looked  upon  almost  in  the  light  of  the  mother 
who  had  died  in  giving  her  birth,  and  with  them  I  re- 
mained for  the  rest  of  the  night,  and  in  the  morning 
informed  my  uncle  of  the  mysterious  occurrence.  His 
surprise  was  extreme,  but,  like  me,  his  pride  would  not 
permit  him  to  believe  that  a  slave  would  venture  to 
raise  'his  eyes  to  his  daughter.  The  nurse  received  the 
strictest  orders  from  my  uncle  never  to  leave  Marie 
alone  for  a  moment  ;  but  as  the  sittings  of  the  Provincial 
Assembly,  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  affairs  of  the 
colony,  and  the  superintendence  of  the  plantation  al- 
lowed him  but  little  leisure,  he  authorized  me  to  accom- 
pany his  daughter  whenever  she  left  the  house,  until 
the  celebration  of  our  nuptials  ;  and  at  the  same  time, 
presuming  that  the  daring  lover  must  be  lurking  in  the 
neighbourhood,  he  ordered  the  boundaries  of  the  plan- 
tation to  be  more  strictly  guarded  than  ever. 

After  all  these  precautions  had  been  taken,  I  deter- 
mined to  put  the  matter  to  further  proof.  I  returned  to 
the  summer-house  by  the  river,  and  repairing  the  de- 
struction of  the  evening  before,  I  placed  a  quantity  of 
fresh  flowers  in  their  accustomed  place.  When  the 
time  arrived  at  which  Marie  usually  sought  the  sweet 
shades  of  this  sequestered  spot,  I  loaded  my  rifle  and 
proposed  to  escort  her  thither.  The  old  nurse  followed 
a  few  steps  behind. 

Marie,  to  whom  I  had  said  nothing  about  my  having 
set  the  place  to  rights,   entered  the  summer-house  the 


BUG-JAKGAL.  23 

first.  "  See,  Leopold,  "  said  she,  "  my  nest  is  in  the 
same  condition  in  which  I  left  it  yesterday  ;  here  are 
your  flowers  thrown  about  in  disorder  and  trampled 
to  pieces,  and  there  is  that  odious  bouquet  which  does 
not  appear  at  all  faded  since  yesterday  ;  indeed,  it  looks 
as  if  it  had  been  freshly  gathered.  " 

I  was  speechless  with  rage  and  surprise.  There  was 
my  morning's  work  utterly  ruined,  and  the  wild  flowers, 
at  whose  freshness  Marie  was  so  much  astonished,  had 
insolently  usurped  the  place  of  the  roses  that  I  had 
strewn  all  over  the  place. 

"  Calm  yourself,  "  said  Marie,  who  noticed  my  agita- 
tion ;  "  this  insolent  intruder  will  come  here  no  more  ; 
let  us  put  all  thoughts  of  him  on  one  side,  as  I  do  this 
nasty  bunc^i  of  flowers.  " 

I  did  not  care  to  undeceive  her,  and  to  tell  her  that 
he  had  returned  ;  yet  I  was  pleased  to  see  the  air  of 
innocent  indignation  with  which  she  crushed  the  flowers 
under  her  foot.  Hoping  that  the  day  Tould  again  come 
when  I  should  meet  my  mysterious  ri\*J  face  to  face,  I 
made  her  sit  down  between  her  nurse  and  myself. 

Scarcely  had  we  done  so  when  Marie  put  her  finger  on 
my  lips  :  a  sound,  deadened  by  the  breeze  and  the  rip- 
pling of  the  stream,  had  struck  upon  her  ear.  I  listened  ; 
it  was  the  notes  of  a  guitar,  the  same  melody  that  had 
filled  me  with  fury  on  the  preceding  evening.  I  made 
a  movement  to  start  from  my  seat,  but  a  gesture  of 
Marie's  detained  me. 

"  Leopold,  "  whispered  she,  "  restrain  yourself  ;  he  is 
going  to  sing,  and  we  shall  learn  who  he  is.  " 

As  she  spoke,  a  few  more  notes  were  struck  on  the 
guitar,  and  then  from  the  depths  of  the  wood  came  the 
plaintive  melody  of  a  Spanish  song,  every  word  of  which 
has  remained  deeply  engraved  on  my  memo*v  :  — 


24  BUG-JARGAL. 

Why  dost  thou  fear  me  and  fly  me  J 
Say,  has  my  music  no  charms  ? 

Do  you  not  know  that  I  love  you  ? 
Why,  then,  these  causeless  alarms! 
Maria  ! 

When  I  perceive  your  slight  figure 
Glide  through  the  cocoanut  grove, 

Sometimes  I  think  't  is  a  spirit 
Come  to  reply  to  my  love. 

Maria  ! 

Sweeter  your  voice  to  mine  ears 
Than  the  birds'  song  in  the  sky 

That,  from  the  kingdom  I  've  lost, 
Over  the  wide  ocean  fly. 

Maria  1 

Far  away,  once  I  was  king, 
Noble  and  powerful  and  free  ; 

All  I  would  gladly  give  up 
For  a  word,  for  a  gesture  from  thee? 
Maria  I 

Tall  and  upright  as  a  palm, 

Sweet  in  your  young  lover's  eyes 

As  the  soft  shade  of  the  tree 
Mirrored  in  cool  water  lies. 

Maria  ! 

But  know  you  not  that  the  storm 
Comes  and  uproots  the  fair  tree  ? 

Jealousy  comes  like  that  storm, 
Bringing  destruction  to  thee, 

Maria  ! 

Tremble,  Hispaniola's  daughter, 
Lest  all  should  fade  and  decay  ; 

And  vainly  you  look  for  the  arm 
To  bear  you  in  safety  away. 

Maria  I 


BUG-JARGAL.  25 

Why,  then,  repulse  my  fond  love  ? 

Black  I  am,  while  you  are  white  ; 
"Night  and  the  day,  when  united, 

Bring  forth  the  beautiful  light. 
Mariai 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  PROLONGED  quavering  note  upon  the  guitar,  like 
a  sob,  concluded  the  song. 

I  was  beside  myself  with  rage.  King  !  black  !  slave  ! 
A  thousand  incoherent  ideas  were  awakened  by  this 
extraordinary  and  mysterious  song.  A  maddening  de- 
sire to  finish  for  once  and  all  with  this  unknown  beino\ 
who  dared  to  mingle  the  name  of  Marie  with  songs  of 
love  and  menace,  took  possession  of  me.  I  grasped  my 
rifle  convulsively  and  rushed  from  the  summer-house. 
Marie  stretched  out  her  arms  to  detain  me,  but  I  was 
already  in  the  thicket  from  which  the  voice  appeared  to 
have  come.  I  searched  the  little  wood  thoroughly,  I 
beat  the  bushes  with  the  barrel  of  my  rifle,  I  crept  be- 
hind the  trunks  of  the  large  trees,  and  walked  through 
the  high  grass. 

Nothing,  nothing,  always  nothing!  This  fruitless 
search  added  fuel  to  the  fire  of  my  anger.  Was  this 
insolent  rival  always  to  escape  from  me  like  a  super- 
natural being  ?  Was  I  never  to  be  able  to  find  out  who 
he  was,  or  to  meet  him?  At  this  moment  the  tinkling 
of  bells  roused  me  from  my  revery.  I  turned  sharply 
round,  the  dwarf  Habibrah  was  at  my  side. 

"  Good-day,  master,  "  said  he,  with  a  sidelong  glance 
full  of  triumphant  malice  at  the  anxiety  which  was  im- 
printed on  my  face. 

"  Tell  me,  "  exclaimed  I,  roughly,  "  have  you  seen  any 
one  about  here  ?  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  27 

"  No  one  except  yourself,  senor  mio,  "  answered  he, 
calmly. 

"  Did  you  hear  no  voice  ?  "  continued  I. 

The  slave  remained  silent,  as  though  seeking  for  an 
evasive  reply. 

My  passion  burst  forth.  "  Quick,  quick  !  "  I  ex- 
claimed. "  Answer  me  quickly,  wretch  !  did  you  hear 
a  voice  ?  n 

He  fixed  his  eyes  boldly  upon  mine  ;  they  were  small 
and  round,  and  gleamed  like  those  of  a  wild  cat. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  voice,  master  ?  There  are 
voices  everywhere,  —  the  voice  of  the  birds,  the  voice  of 
the  stream,  the  voice  of  the  wind  in  the  trees  —  " 

I  shook  him  roughly.  "  Miserable  buffoon  !  "  I  cried, 
"  cease  your  quibbling,  or  you  shall  hear  another  voice 
from  the  barrel  of  my  rifle.  Answer  at  once  ;  did  you 
hear  a  man  singing  a  Spanish  song  ?  " 

"  Yes,  senor,  "  answered  he,  calmly.  "  Listen,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  was  walking  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  wood  listening  to  what  the  silver  bells  of 
my  gorra  [cap]  were  telling  me,  when  the  wind  brought 
to  my  ears  some  Spanish  words,  —  the  first  language 
that  I  heard  when  my  age  could  have  been  counted  by 
months,  and  my  mother  carried  me  slung  at  her  back  in 
a  hammock  of  red  and  yellow  wool.  I  love  the  lan- 
guage ;  it  recalls  to  me  the  time  when  I  was  little  with- 
out being  a  dwarf,  —  a  little  child,  and  not  a  buffoon  ; 
and  so  I  listened  to  the  song.  " 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?  "  cried  I,  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  handsome  master  ;  but  if  you  like  I  can  tell 
you  who  the  man  was  who  sang.  " 

I  felt  inclined  to  clasp  him  in  my  arms.  "  Oh, 
speak  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  speak  !  Here  is  my  purse,  and 
ten  others  fuller  than  that  shall  be  yours  if  you  will  tell 
me  his  name.  " 


28  BUG-JARGAL. 

He  took  the  purse,  opened  it,  and  smiled.  "  Ten 
purses  fuller  than  this,  "  murmured  he  ;  "  that  will  make 
a  fine  heap  of  good  gold  coins.  But  do  not  be  impatient, 
young  master,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  all.  Do  you  re- 
member the  last  verse  of  his  song,  —  something  about 
' 1  am  black,  and  you  are  white,  and  the  union  of  the 
two  produces  the  beautiful  light  '  ?  Well,  if  this  song 
is  true,  Habibrah,  your  humble  slave,  was  born  of  a 
negress  and  a  white,  and  must  be  more  beautiful  than 
you,  master.  I  am  the  offspring  of  day  and  night,  there- 
fore I  am  more  beautiful  than  a  white  man,  and —  " 

He  accompanied  this  rhapsody  with  bursts  of  laughter. 

"  Enough  of  buffoonery,  "  cried  I  ;  "  tell  me  who  was 
singing  in  the  wood  !  * 

"  Certainly,  master  ;  the  man  who  sang  such  buffoon- 
eries, as  you  rightly  term  thern,  could  only  have  been  — 
a  fool  like  me  !     Have  I  not  gained  my  ten  purses  ?  " 

T  raised  my  hand  to  chastise  his  insolence,  when  a 
wild  shriek  rang  through  the  wood  from  the  direction  of 
the  summer-house.  It  was  Marie's  voice.  Like  an 
arrow  I  darted  to  the  spot,  wondering  what  fresh  mis- 
fortune could  be  in  store  for  us,  and  in  a  few  moments 
arrived,  out  of  breath,  at  the  door  of  the  pavilion.  A 
terrible  spectacle  presented  itself  to  my  eyes. 

An  enormous  alligator,  whose  body  was  half  concealed 
by  the  reeds  and  water  plants,  had  thrust  his  monstrous 
head  through  one  of  the  leafy  sides  of  the  summer- 
house  ;  his  hideous,  widely-opened  mouth  threatened  a 
young  negro  of  colossal  height,  who  with  one  arm  sus- 
tained Marie's  fainting  form,  while  with  the  other  he 
had  plunged  the  iron  portion  of  a  hoe  between  the  sharp 
and  pointed  teeth  of  the  monster.  The  reptile  struggled 
fiercely  against  the  bold  and  courageous  hand  that  held 
him  at  bay. 

As  I  appeared  at  the  door,  Marie  uttered  a  cry  of  joy, 


BUG-JARGAL.  29 

and  extricating  herself  from  the  support  of  the  negro, 
threw  herself  into  my  arms  with,  "  I  am  saved  !  I  am 
saved  !  " 

At  the  movement  and  exclamation  of  Marie  the  negro 
turned  abruptly  round,  crossed  his  arms  on  his  breast, 
and  casting  a  look  of  infinite  sorrow  upon  my  betrothed, 
remained  immovable,  taking  no  heed  of  the  alligator, 
which,  having  freed  itself  from  the  hoe,  was  advancing 
on  him  in  a  threatening  manner.  There  would  have 
been  a  speedy  end  of  the  courageous  negro  had  I  not 
rapidly  placed  Marie  on  the  knees  of  her  nurse  (who, 
more  dead  than  alive,  was  gazing  upon  the  scene),  and 
coming  close  to  the  monster,  discharged  my  carbine  into 
its  yawning  mouth.  The  huge  reptile  staggered  back, 
its  bleeding  jaws  opened  and  shut  convulsively,  its  eyes 
closed  ;  and  after  one  or  two  un  vailing  efforts  it  rolled 
over  upon  its  back,  with  its  scaly  feet  stiffening  in  the 
air.     It  was  dead. 

The  negro  whose  life  1  had  so  happily  preserved  turned 
his  head,  and  saw  the  last  convulsive  struggles  of  the 
monster;  then  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Marie,  who  had 
again  cast  herself  into  my  arms,  and  in  accents  of  the 
deepest  despair,  he  exclaimed  in  Spanish,  "  Why  did 
you  kill  him  ?  "  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply  leaped 
into  the  thicket  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTEE  VL 

Ï^HE  terrible  scene,  its  singular  conclusion,  the  ex- 
traordinary mental  emotions  of  every  kind  which 
had  accompanied  and  followed  my  vain  researches  in 
the  wood,  had  made  my  brain  whirl.  Marie  was  still 
stupefied  with  the  danger  that  she  had  so  narrowly  es- 
caped, and  some  time  elapsed  before  we  could  frame 
coherent  words,  or  express  ourselves  otherwise  than  by 
looks  and  clasping  of  the  hands. 

At  last  I  broke  the  silence  :  "  Come,  Marie,  let  us 
leave  this  ;  some  fatality  seems  attached  to  the  place.  " 

She  rose  eagerly,  as  if  she  had  only  been  waiting  for 
my  permission  to  do  so,  and  leaning  upon  my  arm,  we 
quitted  the  pavilion.  I  asked  her  how  it  had  happened 
that  succour  had  so  opportunely  arrived  when  the  danger 
was  so  imminent,  and  if  she  knew  who  the  slave  was 
who  had  come  to  her  assistance  ;  for  that  it  was  a  slave, 
was  shown  by  his  coarse  linen  trousers,  —  a  dress  only 
worn  by  that  unhappy  class. 

"  The  man,"  replied  Marie,  "  is  no  doubt  one  of  my 
father's  negroes,  who  was  at  work  in  the  vicinity  when 
the  appearance  of  the  alligator  made  me  scream;  and 
my  cry  must  have  warned  him  of  my  danger.  All  I 
know  is,  that  he  rushed  out  of  the  wood  and  came  to 
my  help.  " 

"  From  which  side  did  he  come  ?  "  asked  I. 

"  From  the  opposite  side  from  which  the  song  came, 
and  into  which  you  had  just  gone.  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  31 

This  statement  upset  the  conclusion  that  T  had  been 
drawing  from  the  Spanish  words  that  the  negro  had  ad- 
dressed to  me,  and  from  the  song  in  the  same  language 
by  my  unknown  rival.  But  yet  there  was  a  crowd  of 
other  similarities.  This  negro  of  great  height  and 
powerful  muscular  development  might  well  have  been 
the  adversary  with  whom  I  had  struggled  on  the  preceding 
night.  In  that  case  his  half-clothed  person  would  fur- 
nish  a  striking  proof.  The  singer  in  the  wood  had  said, 
"  I  am  black,  "  —  a  further  proof.  He  had  declared  him- 
self to  be  a  king,  and  this  one  was  only  a  slave  ;  but  I 
recollected  that  in  my  brief  examination  I  had  been 
surprised  at  the  noble  appearance  of  his  features,  though 
of  course  accompanied  by  the  characteristic  signs  of  the 
African  race. 

The  more  that  I  thought  of  his  appearance,  the  noble- 
ness of  his  deportment,  and  his  magnificent  proportions. 
I  felt  that  there  might  be  some  truth  in  his  statement 
that  he  had  been  a  king.  But  then  came  the  crushing 
blow  to  my  pride  :  if  he  had  dared  to  gaze  with  an  eye 
of  affection  upon  Marie,  if  he  had  made  her  the  object 
of  his  serenades,  —  he,  a  negro  and  a  slave,  — ■  what 
punishment  could  be  sufficiently  severe  for  his  presump- 
tion ?  With  these  thoughts  all  my  indecision  returned 
again,  and  again  my  anger  increased  against  the  myste- 
rious unknown.  But  at  the  moment  that  these  ideas 
filled  my  brain,  Marie  dissipated  them  entirely  by  ex- 
claiming, in  her  gentle  voice, — 

"  My  Leopold,  we  must  seek  out  this  brave  negro,  and 
pay  him  the  debt  of  gratitude  that  we  owe  him  ;  for 
without  him  I  should  have  been  lost,  for  you  would 
have  arrived  too  late.  " 

These  few  words  had  a  decisive  effect.  They  did  not 
alter  my  determination  to  seek  out  the  slave,  but  they 
entirely  altered  the  design  with  which  I  sought  him; 


32  BUG-JARGAL. 

for  it  was  to  recompense  and  not  to  punish  him  that  I 
was  now  eager. 

My  uncle  learned  from  me  that  he  owed  his  daughter's 
life  to  the  courage  of  one  of  his  slaves,  and  he  promised 
me  his  liberty  as  soon  as  I  could  find  him  out. 


CHAPTEE  VIL 

UP  to  that  time  my  feelings  had  restrained  me  from 
going  into  those  portions  of  the  plantation  where 
the  slaves  were  at  work  ;  it  had  been  too  painful  for  me 
to  see  so  much  suffering  which  I  was  powerless  to  alle- 
viate. But  on  the  day  after  the  events  had  taken  place 
which  I  have  just  narrated,  upon  my  uncle  asking  me 
to  accompany  him  on  his  tour  of  inspection,  I  accepted 
his  proposal  with  eagerness,  hoping  to  meet  among  the 
labourers  the  preserver  of  my  much-beloved  Marie. 

I  had  the  opportunity  in  this  visit  of  seeing  how 
great  a  power  the  master  exercises  over  his  slaves,  but 
at  the  same  time  I  could  perceive  at  what  a  cost  this 
power  was  bought;  for  though  at  the  presence  of  my 
uncle  all  redoubled  their  efforts,  I  could  perceive  that 
there  was  as  much  hatred  as  terror  in  the  looks  that 
they  furtively  cast  upon  him. 

Irascible  by  temperament,  my  uncle  seemed  vexed  at 
being  unable  to  discover  any  object  upon  which  to  vent 
his  wrath,  until  Habibrah  the  buffoon,  who  was  ever  at 
his  heels,  pointed  out  to  him  a  young  negro,  who,  over- 
come by  heat  and  fatigue.,  had  fallen  asleep  under  a 
clump  of  date-trees.  My  uncle  stepped  quickly  up  to 
him,  shook  him  violently,  and  in  angry  tones  ordered 
him  to  resume  his  work. 

The  terrified  slave  rose  to  his  feet,  and  in  so  doing 
disclosed  a  Bengal  rose-tree  upc*'  ^rhich  he  had   acci- 


34  BUG-JARGAL. 

dentally  lain,  and  which  my  uncle  prized  highly.  The 
shrub  was  entirely  destroyed. 

At  this  the  master,  already  irritated  at  what  he  called 
the  idleness  of  his  slave,  became  furious.  Foaming  with 
rage,  he  unhooked  from  his  belt  the  whip  with  wire- 
plated  thongs,  which  he  always  carried  with  him  on 
his  rounds,  and  raised  his  arm  to  strike  the  negro  who 
had  fallen  at  his  feet. 

The  whip  did  not  fall.  I  shall,  as  long  as  I  live, 
never  forget  that  moment.  A  powerful  grasp  arrested 
the  hand  of  the  angry  planter,  and  a  negro  (it  was  the 
very  one  that  I  was  in  search  of)  exclaimed,  "  Punish 
me,  for  I  have  offended  you  ;  but  do  not  hurt  my  brother, 
who  has  but  broken  your  rose-tree.  " 

This  unexpected  interposition  from  the  man  to  whom 
I  owed  Marie's  safety,  his  manner,  his  look,  and  the 
haughty  tone  of  his  voice,  struck  me  with  surprise. 
But  his  generous  intervention,  far  from  causing  my 
uncle  to  blush  for  his  causeless  anger,  only  increased 
the  rage  of  the  incensed  master,  and  turned  his  anger 
upon  the  new  comer. 

Exasperated  to  the  highest  pitch,  my  uncle  disengaged 
his  arm  from  the  grasp  of  the  tall  negro,  and  pouring 
out  a  volley  of  threats,  again  raised  the  whip  to  strike 
the  first  victim  of  his  anger.  This  time,  however,  it 
was  torn  from  his  hand,  and  the  negro,  breaking  the 
handle  studded  with  iron  nails  as  you  would  break  a 
straw,  cast  it  upon  the  ground  and  trampled  upon  the 
instrument  of  degrading  punishment. 

I  was  motionless  with  surprise  ;  my  uncle  with  rage, 
for  it  was  an  unheard-of  thing  for  him  to  find  his  au- 
thority thus  contemned.  His  eyes  appeared  ready  to 
start  from  their  sockets,  and  his  lips  quivered  with 
passion. 

The  negro  gazed  upon  him  calmly,  and  then,  with  a 


BUG-JARGAL.  35 

dignified  air,  he  offered  him  an  axe  that  he  held  in  his 
hand.  "  White  man,  "  said  he,  "  if  you  wish  to  strike 
me,  at  least  take  this  axe.  " 

My  uncle,  beside  himself  with  rage,  would  certainly 
have  complied  with  the  request,  for  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  to  grasp  the  dangerous  weapon  ;  but  I  in  my  turn 
interfered,  and.  seizing  the  axe  threw  it  into  the  well  of 
a  sugar-mill  which  was  close  at  hand. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  asked  my  uncle,  angrily. 

"  I  have  saved  you,  "  answered  I,  "  from  the  unhappi- 
ness  of  striking  the  preserver  of  your  daughter.  It  is 
to  this  slave  that  you  owe  Marie  ;  it  is  the  negro  to 
whom  you  have  promised  liberty.  " 

It  was  an  unfortunate  moment  in  which  to  remind 
my  uncle  of  his  promise.  My  words  could  not  soothe 
the  wounded  dignity  of  the  planter. 

"  His  liberty  !  "  replied  he,  savagely.  "  Yes,  he  has  de^ 
served  that  an  end  should  be  put  to  his  slavery.  His 
liberty  indeed  !  we  shall  see  what  sort  of  liberty  the 
members  of  a  court-martial  will  accord  him.  " 

These  menacing  words  chilled  my  blood.  In  vain  did 
Marie  later  join  her  entreaties  to  mine.  The  negro 
whose  negligence  had  been  the  cause  of  this  scene  was 
punished  with  a  severe  flogging,  while  his  defender  was 
thrown  into  the  dungeons  of  Fort  Galifet,  under  the 
terrible  accusation  of  having  assaulted  a  white  man. 
For  a  slave  who  did  this,  the  punishment  was  invaria- 
bly death. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

YOU  may  judge,  gentlemen,  how  much  all  these  cir- 
cumstances excited  my  curiosity  and  interest.  I 
made  every  inquiry  regarding  the  prisoner,  and  some 
strange  particulars  came  to  my  knowledge.  I  learned 
that  all  his  comrades  displayed  the  greatest  respect  for 
the  young  negro.  Slave  as  he  was,  he  had  but  to  make 
a  sign  to  be  implicitly  obeyed.  He  was  not  born  upon 
the  estate,  nor  did  any  one  know  his  father  or  mother  : 
all  that  was  known  of  him  was  that  some  years  ago  a 
slave  ship  had  brought  him  to  St.  Domingo.  This  cir- 
cumstance rendered  the  influence  which  he  exercised 
over  the  slaves  the  more  extraordinary,  for  as  a  rule  the 
negroes  born  upon  the  island  profess  the  greatest  con- 
tempt for  the  Congos,  —  a  term  which  they  apply  to  all 
slaves  brought  direct  from  Africa. 

Although  he  seemed  a  prey  to  deep  dejection,  his 
enormous  strength,  combined  with  his  great  skill,  ren- 
dered him  very  valuable  in  the  plantation.  He  could 
turn  more  quickly,  and  for  a  longer  period,  than  a  horse 
the  wheels  of  the  sugar-mills,  and  often  in  a  single  day 
performed  the  work  of  ten  of  his  companions  to  save 
them  from  the  punishment  to  which  their  negligence  or 
incapacity  had  rendered  them  liable.  For  this  reason 
he  was  adored  by  the  slaves  ;  but  the  respect  that  they 
paid  him  was  of  an  entirely  different  character  from  the 
superstitious  dread  with  which  they  looked  upon  Habi- 
brah  the  Jester. 


BUG-JAR  G  AL,  37 

What  was  more  strange  than  all  was  the  modesty  and 
gentleness  with  which  he  treated  his  equals,  in  contrast 
to  the  pride  and  haughtiness  which  he  displayed  to  the 
negroes  who  acted  as  overseers.  These  privileged  slaves, 
the  intermediary  links  in  the  chain  of  servitude,  too 
often  exceed  the  little  brief  authority  that  is  delegated 
to  them,  and  find  a  cruel  pleasure  in  overwhelming  those 
beneath  them  with  work.  Not  one  of  them,  however, 
had  ever  dared  to  inflict  any  species  of  punishment  on 
him,  for  had  they  done  so,  twenty  negroes  would  have 
stepped  forward  to  take  his  place,  while  he  would  have 
looked  gravely  on,  as  though  he  considered  that  they 
were  merely  performing  a  duty.  The  strange  being  was 
known  throughout  the  negro  quarter  as  Pierrot 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"T^HE  whole  of  these  circumstances  took  a  firm  hold 
■*-  upon  my  youthful  imagination.  Marie,  inspired 
by  compassion  and  gratitude,  applauded  my  enthusiasm , 
and  Pierrot  excited  our  interest  so  much  that  I  deter- 
mined to  visit  him  and  offer  him  my  services  in  extri- 
cating him  from  his  perilous  position.  As  the  nephew 
of  one  of  the  richest  colonists  in  the  Cap,  I  was,  in  spite 
of  my  youth,  a  captain  in  the  Acul  Militia.  This  regi- 
ment, and  a  detachment  of  the  Yellow  Dragoons,  had 
charge  of  Fort  Galifet  ;  the  detachment  was  commanded 
by  a  non-commissioned  officer,  to  whose  brother  I  had 
once  had  the  good  fortune  to  render  an  important  ser- 
vice, and  who  therefore  was  entirely  devoted  to  me. 

[Here  the  listeners  at  once  pronounced  the  name  of 
Thaddeus.] 

You  are  right,  gentlemen  ;  and  as  you  may  well  believe, 
I  had  not  much  trouble  in  penetrating  to  the  cell  in  which 
the  negro  was  confined.  As  a  captain  in  the  militia,  I 
had  of  course  the  right  to  visit  the  fort;  but  to  evade 
the  suspicions  of  my  uncle,  whose  rage  was  still  un- 
abated, I  took  care  to  go  there  at  the  time  of  his  noon- 
day siesta.  All  the  soldiers  too,  except  those  on  guard, 
were  asleep,  and  guided  by  Thaddeus  I  came  to  the  door 
of  the  cell.  He  opened  it  for  me,  and  then  discreetly 
retired. 

The  negro  was  seated  on  the  ground,  for  on  account  of 
his  height  he  could  r^t  stand  upright.     He  was  not 


BUG-JARGAL.  30 

alone  ;  an  enormous  dog  was  crouched  at  his  feet,  which 
rose  with  a  growl,   and  moved  toward  me. 

"  Eask  !  "  cried  the  negro. 

The  dog  ceased  growling,  and  again  lay  down  at  his 
master's  feet,   and  began  eating  some  coarse  food. 

I  was  in  uniform,  and  the  daylight  that  came  through 
the  loophole  in  the  wall  of  the  cell  was  so  feeble  that 
Pierrot  could  not  recognize  my  features. 

"  I  am  ready,  "  said  he,  in  a  clear  voice. 

"  I  thought,  "  remarked  I,  surprised  at  the  ease  with 
which  he  moved,   "  that  you  were  in  irons.  " 

He  kicked  something  that  jingled. 

"  Irons  ;  oh,  I  broke  them  !  " 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  in  which  he  uttered 
these  words  that  seemed  to  say,  "  I  was  not  born  to  wear 
fetters.  " 

I  continued  :  "  I  did  not  know  that  they  had  per- 
mitted you  to  have  a  dog  with  you.  " 

"  They  did  not  allow  it  ;  I  brought  him  in.  " 

I  was  more  and  more  astonished.  Three  bolts  closed 
the  door  on  the  outside,  the  loop  hole  was  scarcely  six 
inches  in  width,  and  had  two  iron  bars  across  it. 

He  seemed  to  divine  my  thoughts,  and  rising  as 
nearly  erect  as  the  low  roof  would  permit,  he  pulled  out 
with  ease  a  large  stone  placed  under  the  loop-hole,  re- 
moved the  iron  bars,  and  displayed  an  opening  suffi- 
ciently large  to  permit  two  men  to  pass  through.  This 
opening  looked  upon  a  grove  of  bananas  and  cocoa-nut 
trees  which  covered  the  hill  upon  which  the  fort  was 
built. 

Surprise  rendered  me  dumb  ;  at  that  moment  a  ray  of 
light  fell  on  my  face.  The  prisoner  started  as  if  he  had 
accidentally  trodden  upon  a  snake,  and  his  head  struck 
against  the  ceiling  of  the  cell.  A  strange  mixture  of 
opposing  feelings  passed  over  his  face,  —  hatred,  kind- 


40  BUG-JAKGAL. 

ness,  and  astonishment  being  all  mingled  together;  but 
recovering  himself  with  an  effort,  his  face  once  more 
became  cold  and  calm,  and  he  gazed  upon  me  as  if  I 
was  entirely  unknown  to  him. 

"  I  can  live  two  days  more  without  eating,  "  said  he. 

I  saw  how  thin  he  had  become,  and  made  a  movement 
of  horror. 

He  continued  :  "  My  dog  will  only  eat  from  my  hand, 
and  had  I  not  enlarged  the  loop-hole,  poor  Eask  would 
have  died  of  hunger.  It  is  better  that  he  should  live, 
for  I  know  that  I  am  condemned  to  death.  " 

"  No,  "  I  said  ;  "  no,  you  shall  not  die  of  hunger.  " 

He  misunderstood  me.  "  Very  well,  "  answered  he. 
with  a  bitter  smile,  "  I  could  have  lived  two  days  yet 
without  food,  but  I  am  ready:  to-day  is  as  good  as  to- 
morrow,    Do  not  hurt  Eask.  " 

Then  I  understood  what  he  meant  when  he  said  "  I 
am  ready  "  Accused  of  a  crime  the  punishment  for 
which  was  death,  he  believed  that  I  had  come  to  an- 
nounce his  immediate  execution  ;  and  yet  this  man 
endowed  with  herculean  strength,  with  all  the  avenues 
of  escape  open  to  him,  had  in  a  calm  and  childlike  man- 
ner repeated,  "  I  am  ready  !  " 

"  Do  not  hurt  Eask,  "  said  he,  once  more. 

I  could  restrain  myself  no  longer.  "  What  !  "  I  ex- 
claimed, "  not  only  do  you  take  me  for  your  executioner, 
but  you  think  so  meanly  of  my  humanity  that  you  be- 
lieve I  would  injure  this  poor  dog,  who  has  never  done 
me  any  harm  !  " 

His  manner  softened,  and  there  was  a  slight  tremor 
in  his  voice  as  he  offered  me  his  hand,  saying,  "  White 
man,  pardon  me  ;  but  I  love  my  dog,  and  your  race  have 
cruelly  injured  me.  " 

T  embraced  him,  T  clasped  his  hand,  I  did  my  best  to 
undeceive  him.     "  Do  you  not  know  me?"  asked  I. 


BUG-JAKGAL.  41 

*  I  know  that  you  are  white,  and  that  a  negro  is 
nothing  in  the  eyes  of  men  of  your  colour  ;  besides,  you 
have  injured  me.  " 

"  In  what  manner  ?  n  exclaimed  I,  in  surprise. 

"  Have  you  not  twice  saved  my  life  ?  " 

This  strange  accusation  made  me  smile  ;  he  perceived 
it,  and  smiled  bitterly  :  "  Yes,  I  know  it  too  well  :  once 
you  saved  my  life  from  an  alligator,  and  once  from  a 
planter;  and  what  is  worse,  I  am  denied  the  right  to 
hate  you.      I  am  very  unhappy.  " 

The  strangeness  of  his  language  and  of  his  ideas  sur- 
prised me  no  longer;  it  was  in  harmony  with  himself. 
"  I  owe  more  to  you  than  you  can  owe  to  me.  I  owe  you 
the  life  of  Marie,  —  of  my  betrothed.  " 

He  started  as  though  he  had  received  some  terrible 
shock.  "  Marie  !  "  repeated  he  in  stifled  tones,  and  his 
face  fell  in  his  hands,  which  trembled  violently,  while 
his  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  heavy  sighs. 

I  must  confess  that  once  again  my  suspicions  were 
aroused  ;  but  this  time  there  were  no  feelings  of  anger 
or  jealousy.  I  was  too  near  my  happiness,  and  he  was 
trembling  upon  the  brink  of  death,  so  that  I  could  not 
for  a  moment  look  upon  him  as  a  rival;  and  even  had  I 
done  so,  his  forlorn  condition  would  have  excited  my 
compassion  and  sympathy. 

At  last  he  raised  his  head.  "  Go,  "  said  he  ;  "  do  not 
thank  me.  "  After  a  pause  he  added,  "  And  yet  my 
rank  is  as  lofty  as  your  own.  " 

These  last  words  roused  my  curiosity.  I  urged  him 
to  tell  me  of  his  position  and  his  sufferings;  but  he 
maintained  an  obstinate  silence. 

My  proceedings,  however,  had  touched  his  heart,  and 
my  entreaties  appeared  to  have  vanquished  his  distaste 
for  life.  He  left  his  cell,  and  in  a  short  time  returned 
with  some  bananas  and  *  large  cocoa-nut  ;  then  he  re 


42  BUG-JÂRGAL. 

closed  the  opening  and  began  to  eat.  As  we  conversed, 
I  remarked  that  he  spoke  French  and  Spanish  with 
equal  facility,  and  that  his  education  had  not  been  en- 
tirely neglected.  He  knew  many  Spanish  songs,  which 
he  sang  with  great  feeling.  Altogether  he  was  a  mys- 
tery that  I  endeavoured  in  vain  to  solve,  for  he  would 
give  me  no  key  to  the  riddle.  At  last,  with  regret,  I  was 
compelled  to  leave  him,  after  having  urged  on  my  faith- 
ful Thaddeus  to  permit  him  every  possible  indulgence. 


CHAPTEK   3L 

EVEEY  day  at  the  same  hour  I  visited  him.  His 
position  rendered  me  very  uneasy,  for  in  spite  of 
all  our  prayers,  my  uncle  obstinately  refused  to  with- 
draw his  complaint.  I  did  not  conceal  my  fears  from 
Pierrot,  who  however  listened  to  them  with  indifference. 

Often  Eask  would  come  in  with  a  large  palm-leaf  tied 
round  his  neck.  His  master  would  take  it  off,  read 
some  lines  traced  upon  it  in  an  unknown  language,  and 
then  tear  it  up.  I  had  ceased  to  question  him  in  any 
matters  connected  with  himself. 

One  day  as  I  entered  he  took  no  notice  of  me  ;  he  was 
seated  with  his  back  to  the  door  of  the  eel],  and  was 
whistling  in  melancholy  mood  the  Spanish  air,  "  Yo  que 
soy  contrabandista  "  ("  A  smuggler  am  I  ").  When  he 
had  completed  it,  he  turned  sharply  round  to  me,  and 
exclaimed  :  "  Brother,  if  you  ever  doubt  me,  promise 
that  you  will  cast  aside  all  suspicion  on  hearing  me  sing 
this  air.  " 

His  look  was  earnest,  and  I  promised  what  he  asked, 
without  noticing  the  words  upon  which  he  laid  so  much 
stress,  "  If  you  ever  doubt  me.  "  He  took  the  empty  half 
of  a  cocoa-nut  which  he  had  brought  in  on  the  day  of 
my  first  visit,  and  had  preserved  ever  since,  filled  it 
with  palm  wine,  begged  me  to  put  my  lips  to  it,  and 
then  drank  it  off  at  a  draught  From  that  day  he  al- 
ways called  me  brother. 

And  now  I  began  to  cherish  a  hope  of  saving  Pierrot's 
life.     My  uncle's  anger  had  cooled  down  a  little.     The 


44  BUG-JARGAL. 

preparations  for  the  festivities  connected  with  his 
daughter's  wedding  had  caused  his  feelings  to  flow  in 
gentle  channels.  Marie  joined  her  entreaties  to  mine. 
Each  day  I  pointed  out  to  him  that  Pierrot  had  had  no 
desire  to  insult  him,  but  had  merely  interposed  to  pre- 
vent him  from  committing  an  act  of  perhaps  too  great 
severity  ;  that  the  negro  had  at  the  risk  of  his  life  saved 
Marie  from  the  alligator  ;  and  besides,  Pierrot  was  the 
strongest  of  all  his  slaves  (for  now  I  sought  to  save 
his  life,  not  to  obtain  his  liberty)  ;  that  he  was  able  to 
do  the  work  of  ten  men,  and  that  his  single  arm  was 
sufficient  to  put  the  rollers  of  a  sugar-mill  in  motion. 
My  uncle  listened  to  me  calmly,  and  once  or  twice 
hinted  that  he  might  not  follow  up  his  complaint. 

I  did  not  say  a  word  to  the  negro  of  the  change  that 
had  taken  place,  hoping  that  I  should  soon  be  the  mes- 
senger to  announce  to  him  his  restoration  to  liberty. 
What  astonished  me  greatly  was,  that  though  he  be- 
lieved that  he  was  under  sentence  of  death,  he  made  no 
effort  to  avail  himself  of  the  means  of  escape  that  lay  in 
his  power.     I  spoke  to  him  of  this. 

"  I  am  forced  to  remain,  "  said  he,  simply,  "  or  they 
would  think  that  I  was  afraid.  " 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

ONE  morning  Marie  came  to  me  radiant  with  happi- 
ness ;  upon  her  gentle  face  was  a  sweeter  expres- 
sion than  even  the  joys  of  pure  love  could  produce,  for 
written  upon  it  was  the  knowledge  of  a  good  deed. 

"  Listen,  "  said  she.  "  In  three  days  we  shall  be  mar- 
ried.    We  shall  soon — " 

I  interrupted  her. 

"  Do  not  say  soon,  Marie,  when  there  is  yet  an  inter- 
val of  three  days.  " 

She  blushed  and  smiled.  "  Do  not  be  foolish,  Leo- 
pold, "  replied  she.  "  An  idea  has  struck  me  which  has 
made  me  very  happy.  You  know  that  yesterday  I  went 
to  town  with  my  father  to  buy  all  sorts  of  things  for  our 
wedding.  I  only  care  for  jewels  because  you  say  that 
they  become  me  ;  T  would  give  all  my  pearls  for  a  single 
flower  from  the  bouquet  which  that  odious  man  with  the 
marigolds  destroyed.  But  that  is  not  what  I  meant  to 
say.  My  father  wished  to  buy  me  everything  that  I 
admired  ;  and  among  other  things  there  was  a  basquina 
of  Chinese  satin  embroidered  with  flowers,  which  I  ad- 
mired. It  was  very  expensive.  My  father  noticed  that 
the  dress  had  attracted  my  attention.  As  we  were  return- 
ing home,  I  begged  him  to  promise  me  a  boon  after  the 
manner  of  the  knights  of  old  :  you  know  how  he  delights 
to  be  compared  to  them.  He  vowed  on  his  honour  that 
he  would  grant  me  whatever  I  asked,  thinking  of  course 
that  it  was  the  basquina  of  Chinese  satin  ;  but  no,  it  is 


46  BUG-JARGAL. 

Pierrot's  pardon   that   I   will   ask   for  as  my  nuptial 

present.  " 

I  could  not  refrain  from  embracing  her  tenderly.  My 
uncle's  word  was  sacred,  and  while  Marie  ran  to  him  to 
claim  its  fulfilment,  I  hastened  to  Fort  Galifet  to  con- 
vey the  glad  news  to  Pierrot. 

"  Brother,"  exclaimed  I,  as  I  entered,  "  rejoice!  your 
life  is  safe  ;  Marie  has  obtained  it  as  a  wedding  present 
from  her  father.  " 

The  slave  shuddered. 

"  Marie  —  wedding  —  my  life  !  What  reference  have 
these  things  to  one  another  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  simple,  "  answered  I.  "  Marie,  whose  life 
you  saved,  is  to  be  married  —  " 

"  To  whom  ?  "  exclaimed  the  negro,  a  terrible  change 
coming  over  his  face. 

"  Did  you  not  know  that  she  was  to  be  married  to  me  ?" 

His  features  relaxed.  "  Ah,  yes,  "  he  replied  ;  "  and 
when  is  the  marriage  to  take  place  ?  " 

"  On  August  the  22d.  " 

"  On  August  the  22d  !  Are  you  mad  ?  "  cried  he,  with 
terror  painted  in  his  countenance. 

He  stopped  abruptly  ;  I  looked  at  him  with  astonish- 
ment. After  a  short  pause  he  clasped  my  hand  : 
"  Brother,  "  said  he,  "  I  owe  you  so  much  that  I  must 
give  you  a  warning.  Trust  to  me  ;  take  up  your  resi- 
dence in  Cap,  and  get  married  before  the  22d.  " 

Tn  vain  I  entreated  him  to  explain  his  mysterious 
words. 

•  Farewell,  "  said  he,  in  solemn  tones  ;  "  I  have  perhaps 
said  too  much,  but  I  hate  ingratitude  even  more  than 
perjury.  " 

I  left  the  prison  a  prey  to  feelings  of  great  uneasiness  , 
but  all  these  were  soon  effacpd  by  the  thoughts  of  my 
approaching  happiness. 


BUG-JARGAL.  47 

That  very  day  my  uncle  withdrew  his  charge,  and  I 
returned  to  the  fort  to  release  Pierrot.  Thaddeus,  on 
hearing  the  noise,  accompanied  me  to  the  prisoner's 
cell  ;  but  he  was  gone  !  Kask  alone  remained,  and  came 
up  to  me  wagging  his  tail.  To  his  neck  was  fastened 
a  palm-leaf,  upon  which  were  written  these  words  : 
"  Thanks  ;  for  the  third  time  you  have  saved  my  life. 
Do  not  forget  your  promise,  friend  ;  "  while  underneath, 
in  lieu  of  signature,  were  the  words  :  "  Yo  que  soy 
contrabandists  " 

Thaddeus  was  even  more  astonished  than  I  was,  for 
he  was  ignorant  of  the  enlargement  of  the  loop-hole,  and 
firmly  believed  that  the  negro  had  changed  himself  into 
a  dog.  I  allowed  him  to  remain  in  this  belief,  content- 
ing myself  with  making  him  promise  to  say  nothing  of 
what  he  had  seen.  I  wished  to  take  Eask  home  with 
me,  but  on  leaving  the  fort  he  plunged  into  a  thickefe 
and  disappeared. 


CHAPTEK  X1L 

MY  uncle  was  furiously  enraged"  at  the  escape  of  the 
negro.  He  ordered  a  diligent  search  to  be  made 
for  him,  and  wrote  to  the  governor  placing  Pierrot  en- 
tirely at  his  disposal  should  he  be  re-taken. 

The  22d  of  August  arrived.  My  union  with  Marie 
was  celebrated  with  every  species  of  rejoicing  at  the 
parish  church  of  Acul.  How  happily  did  that  day  com- 
mence from  which  all  our  misfortunes  were  to  date  !  I 
was  intoxicated  with  my  happiness,  and  Pierrot  and  his 
mysterious  warning  were  entirely  banished  from  my 
thoughts. 

At  last  the  day  came  to  a  close,  and  my  wife  had 
retired  to  her  apartments,  but  for  a  time  duty  forbade 
me  joining  her  there.  My  position  as  a  captain  of  mili- 
tia required  me  that  eveniDg  to  make  the  round  of  the 
guards  posted  about  Acul.  This  nightly  precaution  was 
absolutely  necessary  owing  to  the  disturbed  state  of  the 
colony,  caused  by  occasional  outbreaks  among  the  ne- 
groes, which,  however,  had  been  promptly  repressed. 
My  uncle  was  the  first  to  recall  me  to  the  recollection  of 
my  duty.  I  had  no  option  but  to  yield,  and,  putting 
on  my  uniform,  I  went  out.  I  visited  the  first  few 
guards  without  discovering  any  cause  of  alarm;  but 
towards  midnight,  as  half  buried  in  my  own  thoughts  I 
was  patrolling  the  shores  of  the  bay,  I  perceived  upon 
the  horizon  a  ruddy  light  in  the  direction  of  Limonade 
and  St.  Louis  da  Morin.  At  first  my  escort  attributed 
it  to  some  accidental  conflagration;   but  in  a  few  mo- 


.buG-JARGAL.  49 

ments  the  flames  became  so  vivid,  and  the  smoke  rising 
before  the  wind  grew  so  thick,  that  I  ordered  an  imme- 
diate return  to  the  fort  to  give  the  alarm,  and  to  request 
that  help  might  be  sent  in  the  direction  of  the  fire. 

In  passing  through  the  quarters  of  the  negroes  who 
belonged  to  our  estate,  I  was  surprised  at  the  extreme 
disorder  that  reigned  there.  The  majority  of  the  slaves 
were  afoot,  and  were  talking  together  with  great  earnest- 
ness. One  strange  word  was  pronounced  with  the  greatest 
respect  :  It  was  Bug-Jargal,  which  occurred  continually 
in  the  almost  unintelligible  dialect  that  they  used. 
From  a  word  or  two  which  I  gathered  here  and  there,  I 
learned  that  the  negroes  of  the  northern  districts  were  in 
open  revolt,  and  had  set  fire  to  the  dwelling-houses  and 
the  plantations  on  the  other  side  of  Cap.  Passing 
through  a  marshy  spot,  I  discovered  a  quantity  of  axes 
and  other  tools,  which  would  serve  as  weapons,  hidden 
among  the  reeds. 

My  suspicions  were  now  thoroughly  aroused,  and  I 
ordered  the  whole  of  the  Acul  militia  to  get  under  arms, 
and  gave  the  command  to  my  lieutenant  ;  and  while  my 
poor  Marie  was  expecting  me,  I,  obeying  my  uncle's 
orders  (who,  as  I  have  mentioned,  was  a  member  of  the 
Provincial  Assembly)  took  the  road  to  Cap,  with  such 
soldiers  as  I  had  been  able  to  muster. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  appearance  of  the  town  as  we 
approached.  The  flames  from  the  plantations  which 
were  burning  all  around  it  threw  a  lurid  light  upon  the 
scene,  which  was  only  partially  obscured  by  the  clouds 
of  smoke  which  the  wind  drove  into  the  narrow  streets. 
Immense  masses  of  sparks  rose  from  the  burning  heaps 
of  sugar-cane,  and  fell  like  fiery  snow  on  the  roofs  of 
the  houses,  and  on  the  rigging  of  the  vessels  at  anchor 
in  the  roadsteads,  at  every  moment  threatening  the 
town  of  Cap  with  as  serious  a  conflagration  as  was  al- 


50  BUG-JARGAL. 

ready  raging  in  its  immediate  neighbourhood.  It  was 
a  terrible  sight  to  witness  the  terror-stricken  inhabitants 
exposing  their  lives  to  preserve  from  so  destructive  a 
visitant  their  habitations,  which  perhaps  was  the  last 
portion  of  property  left  to  them;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  vessels,  taking  advantage  of  a  fair  wind,  and 
fearing  the  same  fate,  had  already  set  sail,  and  were 
gliding  over  an  ocean  reddened  by  the  flames  of  tb<? 
conflagration. 


CHAPTEK  XIII 

STUNNED  by  the  noise  of  the  minute-guns  from  the 
fort,  by  the  cries  of  the  fugitives  and  the  distant 
crash  of  falling  buildings,  I  did  not  know  in  what  direc 
tion  to  lead  my  men  ;  but  meeting  in  the  main  square 
the  captain  of  the  Yellow  Dragoons,  he  advised  me  to 
proceed  direct  to  the  governor. 

Other  hands  have  painted  the  disasters  of  Cap,  and  I 
must  pass  quickly  over  my  recollections  of  them,  written 
as  they  are  in  fire  and  blood.  I  will  content  myself 
with  saying  that  the  insurgent  slaves  were  already  mas- 
ters of  Dondon,  of  Terrier-Eouge,  of  the  town  of  Ouana- 
minte,  and  of  the  plantation  of  Limbe.  This  last  news 
filled  me  with  uneasiness,  owing  to  the  proximity  of 
Limbe  to  Acul.  I  made  all  speed  to  the  Government 
House.  All  was  in  confusion  there.  I  asked  for  orders, 
and  begged  that  instant  measures  might  be  taken  for  the 
security  of  Acul,  which  I  feared  the  insurgents  were 
already  threatening.  With  the  governor  (Monsieur  de 
Blanchelande)  were  M.  de  Kouvray,  the  brigadier  and 
one  of  the  largest  landholders  in  Cap  ;  M.  de  Touzard, 
the  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  Eegiment  of  Cap  ;  a  great 
many  members  of  the  Colonial  and  the  Provincial  As- 
semblies, and  numbers  of  the  leading  colonists.  As  I 
entered,  all  were  engaged  in  a  confused  argument. 

"  Your  Excellency,  "  said  a  member  of  the  Provincial 
Assembly,  "  it  is  only  too  true,  —  it  is  the  negroes,  and 
not  the  free  mulattoes.  It  has  often  been  pointed  out 
that  there  was  danger  m  that  direction.  " 


52  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  You  make  that  statement  without  believing  in  it& 
truth,  "  answered  a  member  of  the  Colonial  Assembly, 
bitterly  ;  "  and  you  only  say  it  to  gain  credit  at  our 
expense.  So  far  from  expecting  a  rising  of  the  slaves, 
you  got  up  a  sham  one  in  1789,  — a  ridiculous  farce,  in 
which  with  a  supposed  insurgent  force  of  three  thousand 
slaves  one  national  volunteer  only  was  killed,  and  that 
most  likely  by  his  own  comrades.  " 

"  I  repeat,  *  replied  the  Provincial,  "  that  we  can  see 
farther  than  you.  It  is  only  natural.  We  remain  upon 
the  spot  and  study  the  minutest  details  of  the  colony, 
while  you  and  your  Assembly  hurry  off  to  France  to 
make  some  absurd  proposals,  which  are  often  met  with 
a  national  reprimand  Ridiculus  mus.  " 

The  member  of  the  Colonial  Assembly  answered  with 
a  sneer  :  "  Our  fellow-citizens  re-elected  us  all  without 
hesitation.  " 

"  It  was  your  Assembly,  "  retorted  the  other,  "  that 
caused  the  execution  of  that  poor  devil  who  neglected  to 
wear  a  tricoloured  cockade  in  a  café,  and  who  com- 
menced a  petition  for  capital  punishment  to  be  inflicted 
on  the  mulatto  Lacombe  with  that  worn-out  phrase,  '  In 
the  name  of  the  Father,  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.'" 

"  It  is  false  !  "  exclaimed  the  other  ;  "  there  has  always 
been  a  struggle  of  principles  against  privileges  between 
our  Assemblies.  " 

"  Ha,  monsieur  !  I  see  now  you  are  an  Independent.  " 

"  That  is  tantamount  to  allowing  that  you  are  in 
favour  of  the  White  Cockade  :  I  leave  you  to  get  out 
of  that  confession  as  best  you  may.  " 

More  might  have  passed,  but  the  governor  interposed  : 
*  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  what  has  this  to  do  with  the 
present  state  of  affairs,  and  the  pressing  danger  that 
threatens  us  ?    Listen  to  the  reports  that  I  have  received. 


BUG-JARGAL.  53 

The  revolt  began  this  night  at  ten  o'clock  among  the 
slaves  in  the  Turpin  Plantation.  The  negroes,  headed 
by  an  English  slave  named  Bouckmann,  were  joined  by 
the  blacks  from  Clement,  Trémés,  Flaville,  and  Nee. 
They  set  fire  to  all  the  plantations,  and  massacred  the 
colonists  with  the  most  unheard-of  barbarities.  By  one 
single  detail  I  can  make  you  comprehend  all  the  horrors 
accompanying  this  insurrection.  The  standard  of  the 
insurgents  is  the  body  of  a  white  child  on  the  point  of 
a  pike.  " 

A  general  cry  of  horror  interrupted  the  governor's 
statement. 

"  So  much,  "  continued  he,  *  for  what  has  passed  out- 
side the  town.  Within  its  limits  all  is  confusion.  Fear 
has  rendered  many  of  the  inhabitants  forgetful  of  the 
duties  of  humanity,  and  they  have  murdered  their 
slaves.  Nearly  all  have  confined  their  negroes  behind 
bolts  and  bars.  The  white  artisans  accuse  the  free 
mulattoes  of  being  participators  in  the  revolt,  and  many 
have  had  great  difficulty  in  escaping  from  the  fury  of 
the  populace.  I  have  had  to  grant  them  a  place  of  ref- 
uge in  a  church,  guarded  by  a  regiment  of  soldiers  ;  and 
now,  to  prove  that  they  have  nothing  in  common  with 
the  insurgents,  they  ask  that  they  may  be  armed  and 
led  against  the  rebels.  " 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  kind,  your  Excellency  !  "  cried  a 
voice  which  I  recognized  as  that  of  the  planter  with 
whom  I  had  had  a  duel,  —  "  do  nothing  of  the  kind  ! 
give  no  arms  to  the  mulattoes  !  " 

"  What  !  do  you  not  want  to  fight  ?  "  asked  a  planter, 
with  a  sneer. 

The  other  did  not  appear  to  hear  him,  and  continued: 
"  These  men  of  mixed  blood  are  our  worst  enemies,  and 
we  must  take  every  precaution  against  them.  It  is  from 
that  quarter  that  the  insurgents  are  recruited  ;  the  ne- 


54  BUG-JARGAL. 

groes  have  but  little  to  do  with  the  rising.  "  The  poor 
wretch  hoped  by  his  abuse  of  the  mulattoes  to  prove 
that  he  had  nothing  in  common  with  them,  and  to  clear 
himself  from  the  imputation  of  having  black  blood  in 
his  veins;  but  the  attempt  was  too  barefaced,  and  a 
murmur  of  disgust  rose  up  on  all  sides. 

"Yes,"  said  M.  de  Kouvray,  "the  slaves  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  it,  for  they  are  forty  to  one  ;  and  we 
should  be  in  a  serious  plight  if  we  could  only  oppose 
the  negroes  and  the  mulattoes  with  whites  like  you.  " 

The  planter  bit  his  lips. 

"  General,  "  said  the  governor,  "  what  answer  shall  be 
given  to  the  petition  ?  Shall  the  mulattoes  have  the 
arms  ?  " 

"  Give  them  weapons,  your  Excellency  ;  let  us  make 
use  of  every  willing  hand.  And  you,  sir,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  colonist  of  doubtful  colour,  "  go  arm 
yourself,   and  join  your  comrades.  " 

The  humiliated  planter  slunk  away,  filled  with  con- 
centrated rage. 

But  the  cries  of  distress  which  rang  through  the  town 
reached  even  to  the  chamber  in  which  the  council  was 
being  held.  M.  de  Blanchelande  hastily  pencilled  a  few 
words  upon  a  slip  of  paper,  and  handed  it  to  one  of  his 
aides-de-camp,  who  at  once  left  the  room. 

"  Gentlemen,  "  he  said,  "  the  mulattoes  will  receive 
arms  ;  but  there  are  many  more  questions  to  be  settled.  " 

"  The  Provincial  Assembly  should  at  once  be  con- 
voked, "  said  the  planter  who  had  been  speaking  when 
first  I  entered. 

"  The  Provincial  Assembly  !  "  retorted  his  antagonist  ; 
"  what  is  the  Provincial  Assembly  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  know  because  you  are  a  member  of  the 
Colonial  Assembly,"  replied  the  favourer  of  the  White 
Cockade. 


bug-jargal.  55 

The  Independent  interrupted  him.  "  I  know  no  more 
of  the  Colonial  than  the  Provincial-  I  only  recognize 
the  General  Assembly.  " 

"  Gentlemen,  "  exclaimed  a  planter,  "  while  we  are 
losing  time  with  this  nonsense,  tell  me  what  is  to  be- 
come of  my  cotton  and  my  cochineal.  " 

"  And  my  indigo  at  Lumbé  ?  " 

"  And  my  negroes,  for  whom  I  paid  twenty  dollars 
a-head  all  round  ?  "   said  the  captain  of  a  slave-ship. 

"  Each  minute  that  you  waste,  "  continued  another 
colonist,  "  costs  me  ten  quintals  of  sugar,  which  at  sev- 
enteen piastres  the  quintal  makes  one  hundred  and 
thirty  livres,  ten  sous,  in  French  money,  by  the  —  " 

Here  the  rival  upholders  of  the  two  Assemblies  again 
sought  to  renew  their  argument. 

"  Morbleu,  "  said  M.  de  Eouvray  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
striking  the  table  violently,  "  what  eternal  talkers  you 
are  !  What  do  we  care  about  your  two  Assemblies  ? 
Summon  both  of  them,  your  Excellency,  and  I  will  form 
them  into  two  regiments  ;  and  when  they  march  against 
the  negroes  we  shall  see  whether  their  tongues  or  their 
muskets  make  the  most  noise.  " 

Then  turning  towards  me  he  whispered  :  "  Between 
the  two  Assemblies  and  the  governor  nothing  can  be 
done.  These  fine  talkers  spoil  all,  as  they  do  in  Paris. 
If  I  was  seated  in  his  Excellency's  chair,  I  would  throw 
all  these  fellows  out  of  the  window,  and  with  my  sol- 
diers and  a  dozen  crosses  of  St.  Louis  to  promise,  I 
would  sweep  away  all  the  rebels  in  the  island.  These 
fictitious  ideas  of  liberty,  which  they  have  all  run  mad 
after  in  France,  do  not  do  out  here.  Negroes  should  be 
treated  so  as  not  to  upset  them  entirely  by  sudden  liber- 
ation ;  all  the  terrible  events  of  to-day  are  merely  the  re- 
sult of  this  utterly  mistaken  policy,  and  this  rising  of  the 
slaves  is  the  natural  result  of  the  taking  of  the  Bastille.  * 


56  BUG-JARGAL. 

While  the  old  soldier  thus  explained  to  me  his  views» 
—  a  little  narrow-minded  perhaps,  but  full  of  the  frank- 
ness of  conviction,  —  the  stormy  argument  was  at  its 
height.  A  certain  planter,  one  among  the  few  who 
were  bitten  with  the  rabid  mania  of  the  revolution,  and 

who  called  himself  Citizen  General  C ,  because  he 

had  assisted  at  a  few  sanguinary  executions,  exclaimed  : 

"  We  must  have  punishments  rather  than  battles. 
Every  nation  must  exist  by  terrible  examples  :  let  us 
terrify  the  negroes.  It  was  1  who  quieted  the  slaves 
during  the  risings  of  June  and  July  by  lining  the  ap- 
proach to  my  house  with  a  double  row  of  negro  heads. 
Let  each  one  join  me  in  this,  and  let  us  détend  the 
entrances  to  Cap  with  the  slaves  who  are  still  in  our 
hands.  " 

"  How  ?  "  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  "  Folly  !  "  "  The 
height  of  imprudence  !  "  was  heard  on  all  sides. 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,  gentlemen.  Let  us  make 
a  ring  of  negro  heads,  from  Fort  Picolet  to  Point  Cara- 
cole. The  rebels,  their  comrades,  will  not  then  dare  to 
approach  us.  I  have  five  hundred  slaves  who  have  re- 
mained faithful  :  I  offer  them  at  once.  " 

This  abominable  proposal  was  received  with  a  cry  of 
horror.  "  It  is  infamous  !  It  is  too  disgusting  !  "  was 
repeated  by  at  least  a  dozen  voices. 

"  Extreme  steps  of  this  sort  have  brought  us  to  the 
verge  of  destruction,  "  said  a  planter.  "  If  the  execution 
of  the  insurgents  of  June  and  July  had  not  been  so  hur- 
ried on,  we  should  have  held  in  our  hands  the  clew  to 
the  conspiracy,  which  the  axe  of  the  executioner  divided 
forever.  " 

Citizen  C ■  was  silenced  for  a  moment  by  this  out- 
burst ;  then  in  an  injured  tone  he  muttered  :  "  I  did  not 
think  that  i"  above  all  others  should  have  been  suspected 
of  cruelty.     Why,    all  my  life  I  have  been  mixed  un 


BUG-JARGAL.  57 

with  the  lovers  of  the  negro  race.  I  am  in  correspond- 
ence with  Briscot  and  Pruneau  de  Pomme  Gouge,  in 
France;  with  Hans  Sloane,  in  England;  with  Magaw, 
in  America  ;  with  Pezll,  in  Germany  ;  with  Olivarius, 
in  Denmark  ;  with  Wadstiorn,  in  Sweden  ;  with  Peter 
Paulus,  in  Holland  ;  with  Avendano,  in  Spain  ;  and  with 
the  Abbé  Pierre  Tamburini,  in  Italy  I  " 

His  voice  rose  as  he  ran  through  the  names  of  his 
correspondents  among  the  lovers  of  the  African  race, 
and  he  terminated  his  speech  with  the  contemptuous 
remark,  "  But  after  all,  there  are  no  true  philosophers 
here." 

For  the  third  time  M.  de  Blanchelande  asked  if  any 
one  had  anything  further  to  propose. 

"  Your  Excellency,  "  cried  one,  "  let  us  embark  on 
board  the  'Leopard,  '  which  lies  at  anchor  off  the  quay.  " 

"  Let  us  put  a  price  on  the  head  of  Bouckmarm,  "  ex- 
claimed another. 

"  Send  a  report  of  what  has  taken  place  to  the  Gov- 
ernor of  Jamaica,  "  suggested  a  third. 

"  A  good  idea,  so  that  he  may  again  send  us  the  ironical 
help  of  five  hundred  muskets  !  "  sneered  a  member  of 
the  Provincial  Assembly.  "  Your  Excellency,  let  us 
send  the  news  to  France,  and  wait  for  a  reply.  " 

"  Wait  !  a  likely  thing  indeed,  "  exclaimed  M.  de 
Eouvray  ;  "  and  do  you  think  that  the  blacks  will  wait, 
eh  ?  And  the  flames  that  encircle  our  town,  do  you 
think  that  they  will  wait?  Your  Excellency,  let  the 
tocsin  be  sounded,  and  send  dragoons  and  grenadiers  in 
search  of  the  main  body  of  the  rebels.  Form  a  camp  in 
the  eastern  division  of  the  island  ;  plant  military  posts 
at  Trou  and  at  Vallieres.  I  will  take  charge  of  the  plain 
of  Dauphin  ;  but  let  us  lose  no  more  time,  for  the  mo- 
ment for  action  has  arrived.  " 

The  bold  and  energetic  speech  of  the  veteran  soldier 


58  BUG-JARGAL. 

hushed  all  differences  of  opinion.  The  general  had  acted 
wisely.  That  secret  knowledge  which  every  one  pos- 
sesses, most  conducive  to  his  own  interests,  caused  all 
to  support  the  proposal  of  General  de  Eouvray;  and 
while  the  governor  with  a  warm  clasp  of  the  hand 
showed  his  old  friend  that  his  counsels  had  been  appre- 
ciated, though  they  had  been  given  in  rather  a  dictatorial 
manner,  the  colonists  urged  for  the  immediate  carrying 
out  of  the  proposals. 

I  seized  the  opportunity  to  obtain  from  M.  de  Blanche- 
lande  the  permission  that  I  so  ardently  desired,  and 
leaving  the  room,  mustered  my  company  in  order  to 
return  to  Acul,  —  though,  with  the  exception  of  myself, 
all  were  worn  out  with  the  fatigue  of  their  late  march. 


CHAPTEK  XIV. 

DAY  began  to  break  as  I  entered  the  market-place  of 
the  town,  and  began  to  rouse  up  the  soldiers,  who 
were  lying  about  in  all  directions  wrapped  in  their 
cloaks,  and  mingled  pell-mell  with  the  Eed  and  Yellow 
Dragoons,  fugitives  from  the  country,  cattle  bellowing, 
and  property  of  every  description  sent  in  for  security  by 
the  planters.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  confusion  I  began 
to  pick  out  my  men,  when  I  saw  a  private  in  the  Yellow 
Dragoons,  covered  with  dust  and  perspiration,  ride  up  at 
full  speed.  I  hastened  to  meet  him  ;  and  in  a  few  broken 
words  he  informed  me  that  my  fears  were  realized,  — 
that  the  insurrection  had  spread  to  Acul,  and  that  the 
negroes  were  besieging  Fort  Galifet,  in  which  the  plan- 
ters and  the  militia  had  taken  refuge.  I  must  tell  you 
that  this  fort  was  by  no  means  a  strong  one,  for  in  St. 
Domingo  they  dignify  the  slightest  earthwork  with  the 
name  of  fort. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  I  mounted  as 
many  of  my  soldiers  as  I  could  procure  horses  for,  and 
taking  the  dragoon  as  a  guide,  I  reached  my  uncle's 
plantation  about  ten  o'clock.  I  scarcely  cast  a  glance  at 
the  enormous  estate,  which  was  nothing  but  a  sea  of 
flame,  over  which  hovered  huge  clouds  of  smoke,  through 
which  every  now  and  then  the  wind  bore  trunks  of  trees 
covered  with  sparks.  A  terrible  rustling  and  crackling 
sound  seemed  to  reply  to  the  distant  yells  of  the  negroes 
which  we  now  began  to  hear,  though  we  could  not  as  yet 
see  them.    The  destruction  of  all  this  wealth,  which  would 


60  BUG-JARGAL. 

eventually  have  become  mine,  did  not  cause  me  a  mo« 
ment's  regret.  All  I  thought  of  was  the  safety  of  Marie  : 
what  mattered  anything  else  in  the  world  to  me  ?  I 
knew  that  she  had  taken  refuge  in  the  fort,  and  I  prayed 
to  God  that  I  might  arrive  in  time  to  rescue  her.  This 
hope  sustained  me  through  all  the  anxiety  I  felt,  and 
gave  me  the  strength  and  courage  of  a  lion. 

At  length  a  turn  in  the  road  permitted  us  to  see  the 
fort.  The  tricolour  yet  floated  on  its  walls,  and  a  well- 
sustained  fire  was  kept  up  by  the  garrison.  I  uttered  a 
shout  of  joy.  "  Gallop,  spur  on  !  "  said  I  to  my  men, 
and  redoubling  our  pace  we  dashed  across  the  fields  in 
the  direction  of  the  scene  of  action.  Near  the  fort  I 
could  see  my  uncle's  house  ;  the  doors  and  windows  were 
dashed  in,  but  the  walls  still  stood,  and  shone  red  with 
the  reflected  glare  of  the  flames,  which  owing  to  the 
wind  being  in  a  contrary  direction,  had  not  yet  reached 
the  building.  A  crowd  of  the  insurgents  had  taken  pos- 
session of  the  house,  and  showed  themselves  at  the  win- 
dows and  on  the  roof.  I  could  see  the  glare  of  torches 
and  the  gleam,  of  pikes  and  axes,  while  a  brisk  fire  of 
musketry  was  kept  up  on  the  fort.  Another  strong  body 
of  negroes  had  placed  ladders  against  the  walls  of  the 
fort  and  strove  to  take  it  by  assault,  though  many  fell 
under  the  well-directed  fire  of  the  defenders.  These 
black  men,  always  returning  to  the  charge  after  each 
repulse,  looked  like  a  swarm  of  ants  endeavouring  to 
scale  the  shell  of  a  tortoise,  and  shaken  off  by  each 
movement  of  the  sluggish  reptile. 

We  reached  the  outworks  of  the  fort,  our  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  banner  which  still  floated  above  it.  I  called 
upon  my  men  to  remember  that  their  wives  and  children 
were  shut  up  within  those  walls,  and  urged  them  to  fly 
to  their  rescue.  A  general  cheer  was  the  reply,  and 
forming  column  I  was  on  the  point  of  giving  the  order 


EUG-JARGAL.  61 

to  charge,  when  a  loud  yell  was  heard  ;  a  cloud  of  smoke 
enveloped  the  fort  and  for  a  time  concealed  it  from  our 
sight;  a  roar  was  heard  like  that  of  a  furnace  in  full 
blast,  and  as  the  smoke  cleared  away  we  saw  a  red  flag 
floating  proudly  above  the  dismantled  walls.  All  was 
over.      Tort  Galifet  was  in  the  hands  of  the  insurgents. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

T  CANNOT  tell  you  what  my  feelings  were  at  this  ter- 
-*■  rible  spectacle.  The  fort  was  taken,  its  defenders 
slain,  and  twenty  families  massacred  ;  but  I  confess,  to 
my  shame  that  I  thought  not  of  this.  Marie  was  lost  to 
me, —  lost,  after  having  been  made  mine  but  a  few  brief 
hours  before  ;  lost,  perhaps,  through  my  fault,  for  had  I 
not  obeyed  the  orders  of  my  uncle  in  going  to  Cap  I  should 
have  been  by  her  side  to  defend  her,  or  at  least  to  die 
with  her.  These  thoughts  raised  my  grief  to  madness, 
for  my  despair  was  born  of  remorse. 

However,  my  men  were  maddened  at  the  sight.  With 
a  shout  of  "  Eevenge  !  "  with  sabres  between  their  teeth 
and  pistols  in  either  hand,  they  burst  into  the  ranks  of 
the  victorious  insurgents.  Although  far  superior  in 
numbers,  the  negroes  fled  at  their  approach;  but  we 
could  see  them  on  our  right  and  left,  before  and  behind 
us,  slaughtering  the  colonists,  and  casting  fuel  on  the 
flames.  Our  rage  was  increased  by  their  cowardly 
conduct. 

Thaddeus,  covered  with  wounds,  made  his  escape 
through  a  postern  gate.  "  Captain,  "  said  he,  "  your 
Pierrot  is  a  sorcerer,  —  an  obi  as  these  infernal  negroes 
call  him;  a  devil,  I  say.  We  were  holding  our  posi- 
tion, you  were  coming  up  fast  ;  all  seemed  saved,  — 
when  by  some  means,  which  I  do  not  know,  he  pene- 
trated into  the  fort,  and  there  was  an  end  of  us.  As 
for  your  uncle  and  Madame  —  " 


Pierrot  carrying  off  Marie. 


BUG-JARGAL.  63 

*  Marie  !  "  interrupted  I,  "  where  is  Marie  ?  " 

At  this  instant  a  tall  black  burst  through  a  blazing 
fence,  carrying  in  his  arms  a  young  woman  who  shrieked 
and  struggled  :  it  was  Marie,  and  the  negro  was  Pierrot  ! 

"Traitor!"  cried  I,  and  fired  my  pistol  at  him;  one 
of  the  rebels  threw  himself  in  the  way,  and  fell  dead. 

Pierrot  turned,  and  addressed  a  few  words  tc  me  which 
I  did  not  catch  ;  and  then  grasping  his  prey  tighter,  he 
dashed  into  a  mass  of  burning  sugar-canes.  A  moment 
afterwards  a  huge  dog  passed  me,  carrying  in  his  mouth 
a  cradle  in  which  lay  my  uncle's  youngest  child.  Trans- 
ported with  rage,  I  fired  my  second  pistol  at  him  ;  but 
it  missed  fire. 

Like  a  madman  I  followed  on  their  tracks;  but  my 
night  march,  the  hours  that  I  had  spent  without  taking 
rest  or  food,  my  fears  for  Marie,  and  the  sudden  fall 
from  the  height  of  happiness  to  the  depth  of  misery, 
had  worn  me  out.  After  a  few  steps  I  staggered,  a  cloud 
seemed  to  come  over  me,  and  I  fell  senseless. 


CHAPTER   XVL 

WHEN  I  recovered  my  senses  I  found  myself  in  my 
uncle's  ruined  house,  supported  in  the  arms  of 
my  faithful  Thaddeus,  who  gazed  upon  me  with  an  ex- 
pression of  the  deepest  anxiety.  "  Victory  !  "  exclaimed 
he,  as  he  felt  my  pulse  begin  to  beat  ;  "  victory  !  the 
negroes  are  in  full  retreat  and  my  captain  has  come  to 
life  again  !  " 

I  interrupted  his  exclamations  of  joy  by  putting  the 
only  question  in  which  I  had  any  interest  :  "  Where  is 
Marie  ?  "  I  had  not  yet  collected  my  scattered  ideas  :  I 
felt  my  misfortune  without  the  recollection  of  it. 

At  my  question  Thaddeus  hung  his  head.  Then  my 
memory  returned  to  me,  and  like  a  hideous  dream  I  re- 
called once  more  the  terrible  nuptial  day,  and  the  tall 
negro  bearing  away  Marie  through  the  flames.  The  re- 
bellion which  had  broken  out  in  the  colony  caused  the 
whites  to  look  on  the  blacks  as  their  mortal  enemies, 
and  made  me  see  in  Pierrot  —  the  good,  the  generous 
and  the  devoted,  who  owed  his  life  three  times  to  me  — 
a  monster  of  ingratitude  and  a  rival.  The  carrying  off 
my  wife  on  the  very  night  of  our  nuptials  proved  too 
plainly  to  me  what  I  had  at  first  only  suspected  ;  and  I 
now  knew  that  the  singer  of  the  wood  was  the  wretch 
who  had  torn  my  wife  from  me.  In  a  few  hours  how 
great  a  change  had  taken  place! 

Thaddeus  told  me  that  he  had  vainly  nursued  Pierrot 
a&  his  dog  when  the  negroes,  in  spite  of  their  numbers 


BUG-JARGAL.  Go 

retired  ;  and  that  the  destruction  of  my  uncle's  property 
still  continued,  without  the  possibility  of  its  being 
arrested.  I  asked  what  had  become  of  my  uncle.  He 
took  my  hand  in  silence  and  led  me  to  a  bed,  the  cur- 
tains of  which  he  drew.  My  unhappy  uncle  was  there, 
stretched  upon  his  blood-stained  couch,  with  a  dagger 
driven  deeply  into  his  heart.  By  the  tranquil  expres- 
sion of  his  face  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  blow  had 
been  struck  during  his  sleep. 

The  bed  of  the  dwarf  Habibrah,  who  always  slept  at 
the  foot  of  his  master's  couch,  was  also  profusely  stained 
with  gore,  and  the  same  crimson  traces  could  be  seen 
upon  the  laced  coat  of  the  poor  fool,  cast  upon  the  floor 
a  few  paces  from  the  bed.  I  did  not  hesitate  for  a  mo- 
ment in  believing  that  the  dwarf  had  died  a  victim  to 
his  affection  for  my  uncle,  and  that  he  had  been  mur- 
dered by  his  comrades,  perhaps  in  the  effort  to  defend 
his  master.  I  reproached  myself  bitterly  for  the  preju- 
dice which  had  caused  me  to  form  so  erroneous  an  esti- 
mate of  the  characters  of  Pierrot  and  Habibrah  ;  and  of 
the  tears  I  shed  at  the  tragic  fate  of  my  uncle,  some 
were  dedicated  to  the  end  of  the  faithful  fool.  By  my 
orders  his  body  was  carefully  searched  for,  but  all  in 
vain  ;  and  I  imagined  that  the  negroes  had  cast  the  body 
into  the  flames.  I  gave  instructions  that  in  the  funeral 
service  over  my  uncle's  remains  prayers  should  be  said 
for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  devoted  Habibrah. 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 


F  OUT  GALIFET  had  been  destroyed,  our  house  was  in 
ruins;  it  was  useless  to  linger  there  any  longer, 
so  that  evening  I  returned  to  Cap.  On  my  arrival  there 
I  was  seized  with  a  severe  fever.  The  effort  that  I  had 
made  to  overcome  my  despair  had  been  too  violent  ;  the 
spring  had  been  bent  too  far  and  had  snapped.  Delirium 
came  on.  My  broken  hopes,  my  profound  love,  my  lost 
future,  and,  above  all,  the  torments  of  jealousy  made  my 
brain  reel.  It  seemed  as  if  fire  flowed  in  my  veins  ;  my 
head  seemed  ready  to  burst,  and  my  bosom  was  filled 
with  rage.  I  pictured  to  myself  Marie  in  the  arms  of 
another  lover,  subject  to  the  power  of  a  master,  of  a 
slave,  of  Pierrot  !  They  told  me  afterwards  that  I  sprang 
from  my  bed,  and  that  it  took  six  men  to  prevent  me 
from  dashing  out  my  brains  against  the  wall.  Why  did 
I  not  die  then  ? 

The  crisis,  however,  passed.  The  doctors,  the  care 
and  attention  of  Thaddeus,  and  the  latent  powers  of 
youth  conquered  the  malady  :  would  that  it  had  not 
done  so  !  At  the  end  of  ten  days  I  was  sufficiently  re- 
covered to  lay  aside  grief,  and  to  live  for  vengeance. 

Hardly  arrived  at  a  state  of  convalescence,  I  went  to 
M.  de  Blanchelande,  and  asked  for  employment.  At 
first  he  wished  to  give  me  the  command  of  some  forti- 
fied post,  but  I  begged  him  to  attach  me  to  one  of  the 
flying  columns,  which  from  time  to  time  were  sent  out 
to  sweep  those   districts   in  which  the  insurgents  had 


BUG-JARGAL  67 

congregated.  Cap  had  been  hastily  pat  in  a  position 
of  defence,  for  the  revolt  had  made  terrible  progress, 
and  the  negroes  of  Port  au  Prince  had  begun  to  show 
symptoms  of  disaffection.  Biassou  was  in  command  of 
the  insurgents  at  Lumbé,  Dondon,  and  Acul  ;  Jean 
François  had  proclaimed  himself  generalissimo  of  the 
rebels  of  Maribarou;  Bouckmann,  whose  tragic  fate 
afterwards  gave  him  a  certain  celebrity,  with  his  bri- 
gands ravaged  the  plains  of  Limonade;  and  lastly,  the 
bands  of  Morne-Rouge  had  elected  for  their  chief  a  negrc 
called  Bug-Jargal. 

If  report  was  to  be  believed,  the  disposition  of  this 
man  contrasted  very  favourably  with  the  ferocity  of  the 
other  chiefs.  While  Bouckmann  and  Biassou  invented 
a  thousand  different  methods  of  death  for  such  prisoners 
as  fell  into  their  hands,  Bug-Jargal  was  always  ready  to 
supply  them  with  the  means  of  quitting  the  island.  M. 
Colas  de  Marjue  and  eight  other  distinguished  colonists 
were  by  his  orders  released  from  the  terrible  death  of 
the  wheel  to  which  Bouckmann  had  condemned  them; 
and  many  other  instances  of  his  humanity  were  cited, 
which  I  have  not  time  to  repeat. 

My  hoped-for  vengeance,  however,  still  appeared  to 
be  far  removed.  I  could  hear  nothing  of  Pierrot.  The 
insurgents  commanded  by  Biassou  continued  to  give  us 
trouble  at  Cap  ;  they  had  once  even  endeavoured  to  take 
position  on  a  hill  that  commanded  the  town,  and  had 
only  been  dislodged  by  the  battery  from  the  citadel  be- 
ing directed  upon  them.  The  governor  had  therefore 
determined  to  drive  them  into  the  interior  of  the  island. 
The  militia  of  Acul,  of  Lumbé,  of  Ouanaminte,  and  of 
Maribarou,  joined  with  the  regiment  of  Cap  and  the 
Red  and  Yellow  Dragoons,  formed  one  army  of  attack  ; 
while  the  corps  of  volunteers  under  the  command  of 
the  merchant  Poncignon,   with  the   militia  of  Dondon 


63  BUG-JARGAL. 

and  Quartier-Dauphin,  composed   the   garrison   of    the 
town. 

The  governor  desired  first  to  free  himself  from  Bug- 
Jargal,  whose  incursions  kept  the  garrison  constantly 
on  the  alert;  and  he  sent  against  him  the  militia  of 
Ouanaminte  and  a  battalion  of  the  regiment  of  Cap. 
Two  days  afterwards  the  expedition  returned,  having 
sustained  a  severe  defeat  at  the  hands  of  Bug-Jargal. 
The  governor,  however,  determined  to  persevere,  and  a 
fresh  column  was  sent  out  with  fifty  of  the  Yellow  Dra- 
goons and  four  hundred  of  the  militia  of  Maribarou. 
This  second  expedition  met  with  even  less  success  than 
the  first.  Thaddeus,  who  had  taken  part  in  it,  was  in 
a  violent  fury,  and  upon  his  return  vowed  vengeance 
against  the  rebel  chief  Bug-Jargal. 

[A   tear   glistened    in   the    eyes    of   D'Auverney;  he 

crossed  his  arms  on  his  breast,  and  appeared  to  be  for 

a  few  moments  plunged  in  a  melancholy  reverie.  At 
length  he  continued.] 


CHAPTER  XVIIÏ. 

THE  news  had  reached  us  that  Bug-Jargal  had  left 
Morne-Kouge,  and  was  moving  through  the  moun» 
tains  to  effect  a  junction  with  the  troops  of  Biassou, 
The  governor  could  not  conceal  his  delight.  "  We  have 
them  !  "  cried  he,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  They  are  in  our 
power  !  " 

By  the  next  morning  the  colonial  forces  had  marched 
some  four  miles  to  the  front  of  Cap.  At  our  approach 
the  insurgents  hastily  retired  from  the  positions  which 
they  had  occupied  at  Port-Mayat  and  Fort  Galifet,  and 
in  which  they  had  planted  siege  guns  that  they  had  cap- 
tured in  one  of  the  batteries  on  the  coast.  The  governor 
was  triumphant,  and  by  his  orders  we  continued  our 
advance.  As  we  passed  through  the  arid  plains  and  the 
ruined  plantations,  many  a  one  cast  an  eager  glance  in 
search  of  the  spot  which  was  once  his  home  ;  but  in  too 
many  cases  the  foot  of  the  destroyer  had  left  no  traces 
behind.  Sometimes  our  march  was  interrupted,  by  the 
conflagration  having  spread  from  the  lands  under  culti- 
vation to  the  virgin  forests. 

In  these  regions,  where  the  land  is  untilled  and  the 
vegetation  abundant,  the  burning  of  a  forest  is  accom- 
panied with  many  strange  phenomena.  Ear  off,  long 
before  the  eye  can  detect  the  cause,  a  sound  is  heard 
like  the  rush  of  a  cataract  over  opposing  rocks  ;  the 
trunks  of  the  trees  flame  out  with  a  sudden  crash,  the 
branches  crackle,  and  the  roots  beneath  the  soil  all  con- 


70  BUG-JARGAL. 

tribute  to  the  extraordinary  uproar.  The  lakes  and  the 
marshes  in  the  interior  of  the  forests  boil  with  the  heat. 
The  hoarse  roar  of  the  coming  flame  stills  the  air,  caus- 
ing a  dull  sound,  sometimes  increasing  and  sometimes 
diminishing  in  intensity  as  the  conflagration  sweeps  on 
or  recedes.  Occasionally  a  glimpse  can  be  caught  of  a 
clump  of  trees  surrounded  by  a  belt  of  fire,  but  as  yet 
untouched  by  the  flames  ;  then  a  narrow  streak  of  fire 
curls  round  the  stems,  and  in  another  instant  the  whole 
becomes  one  mass  of  gold-coloured  fire.  Then  uprises  a 
column  of  smoke,  driven  here  and  there  by  the  breeze  ; 
it  takes  a  thousand  fantastic  forms,  —  spreads  itself  out, 
diminishes  in  an  instant  ;  at  one  moment  it  is  gone,  in 
another  it  returns  with  greater  density;  then  all  be- 
comes a  thick  black  cloud,  with  a  fringe  of  sparks ,  a 
terrible  sound  is  heard,  the  sparks  disappear,  and  the 
smoke  ascends,  disappearing  at  last  in  a  mass  of  red 
ashes,  which  sink  down  slowly  upon  the  blackened 
ground. 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  third  day  of  our  march  we  en- 
tered  the  ravines  of  Grande-Eiviere  ;  we  calculated 
that  the  negro  army  was  some  twenty  leagues  off  in  the 
mountains. 

We  pitched  our  camp  on  a  low  hill,  which  appeared 
to  have  been  used  for  the  same  purpose  before,  as  the 
grass  had  been  trodden  down  and  the  brushwood  cut 
away.  It  was  not  a  judicious  position  in  a  strategical 
point  of  view,  but  we  deemed  ourselves  perfectly  secure 
from  attack.  The  hill  was  commanded  on  all  sides  by 
steep  mountains  clothed  with  thick  forests,  —  their 
precipitous  sides  having  given  these  mountains  the 
name  of  the  Dompte-Mulâtre.  The  Grande-Eiviere 
flowed  behind  our  camp,  which  being  confined  within 
steep  banks  was  just  about  here  very  deep  and  rapid. 
Both  sides  of  the  river  were  hidden  with  thickets, 
through  which  nothing  could  be  seen.  The  waters  of 
the  stream  itself  were  frequently  concealed  by  masses  of 
creeping  plants,  hanging  from  the  branche*  of  the  flow- 
ering maples  which  had  sprung  up  at  intervals  in  the 
jungle,  crossing  and  recrossing  the  stream,  and  forming 
a  tangled  net-work  of  living  verdure.  From  the  heights 
of  the  adjacent  hills  this  mass  of  verdure  appeared  like 
a  meadow  still  fresh  with  dew,  while  every  now  and  then 
a  dull  splash  could  be  heard  as  a  teal  plunged  through 
the  flower-decked  curtain,  and  showed  in  which  direc- 
tion the  river  lay.     By  degrees  the  sun  ceased  to  gild 


72  BUG-JARGAL. 

the  crested  peaks  of  the  distant  mountains  of  Dondon; 
little  by  little  darkness  spread  its  mantle  over  the  camp, 
and  the  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  cry  of  the  night- 
bird,  or  by  the  measured  tread  of  the  sentinels. 

Suddenly  the  dreaded  war-songs  of  "  Oua-Nassé  "  and 
of  "  The  Camp  of  the  Great  Meadow  "  were  heard  above 
our  heads  ;  the  palms,  the  acomas,  and  the  cedars,  which 
crowned  the  summits  of  the  rocks,  burst  into  flames, 
and  the  lurid  light  of  the  conflagration  showed  us 
numerous  bands  of  negroes  and  mulattoes,  whose  copper- 
hued  skins  glowed  red  in  the  firelight  upon  the  neigh- 
bouring hills.     It  was  the  army  of  Biassou. 

The  danger  was  imminent.  The  officers,  aroused 
from  their  sleep,  endeavoured  to  rally  their  men.  The 
drum  beat  the  "  Assembly,  "  while  the  bugles  sounded 
the  "  Alarm.  "  Our  men  fell  in  hurriedly  and  in  confu- 
sion ;  but  the  insurgents,  instead  of  taking  advantage  of 
our  disorder,  remained  motionless,  gazing  upon  us,  and 
continuing  their  song  of  "  Oua-Nassé.  " 

A  gigantic  negro  appeared  alone  on  one  of  the  peaks 
that  overhung  the  Grande- Eiviere  ;  a  flame-coloured 
plume  floated  on  his  head,  and  he  held  an  axe  in  his 
right  hand  and  a  blood-red  banner  in  his  left.  I  recog- 
nized Pierrot.  Had  a  carbine  been  within  my  reach  I 
should  have  fired  at  him,  cowardly  although  the  act 
might  have  been.  The  negro  repeated  the  chorus  of 
"  Oua-Nassé,  "  planted  his  standard  on  the  highest  portion 
of  the  rock,  hurled  his  axe  into  the  midst  of  our  ranks, 
and  plunged  into  the  stream.  A  feeling  of  regret  seized 
me  ;  I  had  hoped  to  have  slain  him  with  my  own  hand. 

Then  the  negroes  began  to  hurl  huge  masses  of  rocks 
upon  us,  while  showers  of  bullets  and  flights  of  arrows 
were  poured  upon  our  camp.  Our  soldiers,  maddened 
at  being  unable  to  reach  their  adversaries,  fell  on  all 
sides,  crushed  by  the  rocks,  riddled  with  bullets,  and 


bug-jargal,,  73 

transfixed  by  arrows.  The  army  was  rapidly  falling 
into  disorder.  Suddenly  a  terrible  noise  came  from  the 
centre  of  the  stream. 

The  Yellow  Dragoons,  who  had  suffered  most  from 
the  shower  of  rocks,  had  conceived  the  idea  of  taking 
refuge  under  the  thick  roof  of  creepers  which  grew  over 
the  river.  It  was  Thaddeus  who  had  at  first  discovered 
this  — 

Here  the  narrative  was  suddenly  interrupted. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MORE  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed  since 
Thaddeus,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  had  glided  into  the 
tent  without  any  of  the  listeners  noticing  his  arrival, 
and  taking  up  his  position  in  a  remote  corner  had  by 
occasional  gestures  expressed  the  interest  that  he  took 
in  his  captain's  narrative;  but  at  last,  considering  that 
this  direct  allusion  to  himself  ought  not  to  be  permitted 
to  pass  without  some  acknowledgment  on  his  part,  he 
stammered  out,  — 

"  You  are  too  good,  Captain  !  " 

A  general  burst  of  laughter  followed  this  speech,  and 
D'Auverney,  turning  towards  him,  exclaimed  severely: 
"  What,  Thaddeus,  you  here  ?     And  your  arm  ?  " 

On  being  addressed  in  so  unaccustomed  a  tone,  the 
features  of  the  old  soldier  grew  dark  ;  he  quivered,  and 
threw  back  his  head,  as  though  to  restrain  the  tears 
which  seemed  to  struggle  to  his  eyes.  "  I  never 
thought,  "  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  you,  Captain, 
could  have  omitted  to  say  thou  when  speaking  to  your 
old  sergeant.  " 

"  Pardon  me,  old  friend,  "  answered  the  captain, 
quickly  ;  "  I  hardly  knew  what  I  said.  Thou  wilt  par- 
don me,   wilt  thou  not  ?  " 

The  tears  sprang  to  the  sergeant's  eyes  in  spite  of  his 
efforts  to  repress  them.  "  It  is  the  third  time,  "  re- 
marked he,  —  "  but  these  are  tears  of  joy.  " 

Peace  was  made,  and  a  short  silence  ensued. 

"  But  tell  me,  Thaddeus,  why  hast  thou  quitted  the 
hospital  to  come  here?  "  asked  D'Auverney,  gently. 


BUG-JARGAL.  75 

**  It  was  —  with  your  permission,  Captain  —  to  ask  if 
I  should  put  the  laced  saddle-cloth  on  the  charger  for 
to-morrow.  " 

Henri  laughed.  "  You  would  have  been  wiser,  Thad- 
deus,  to  have  asked  the  surgeon-major  if  you  should  put 
two  more  pieces  of  lint  on  your  arm,  "  said  he. 

"  Or  to  ask,  "  continued  Paschal,  "  if  you  might  take  a 
glass  of  wine  to  refresh  yourself.  At  any  rate,  here  is 
some  brandy  ;  taste  it,  —  it  will  do  you  good,  my  brave 
sergeant.  " 

Thaddeus  advanced,  saluted,  and  apologizing  for  tak- 
ing the  glass  with  his  left  hand,  emptied  it  to  the  health 
of  the  assembled  company  :  "  You  had  got,  Captain,  to 
the  moment  when  —  yes,  I  remember,  it  was  I  who  pro- 
posed to  take  shelter  under  the  creepers,  to  prevent  our 
men  being  smashed  by  the  rocks.  Our  officer,  who  did 
not  know  how  to  swim,  was  afraid  of  being  drowned, 
and,  as  was  natural,  was  dead  against  it  until  he  saw 
—  with  your  permission,  gentlemen  —  a  great  rock  fall 
on  the  creepers  without  being  able  to  get  through  them. 
'It  is  better  to  die  like  Pharaoh  than  like  Saint  Stephen,  ' 
said  he  ;  '  for  we  are  not  saints,  and  Pharaoh  was  a  sol- 
dier like  ourselves.  '  The  officer  was  a  learned  man, 
you  see.  And  so  he  agreed  to  my  proposal,  on  the  con- 
dition that  I  should  first  try  the  experiment  myself. 
Off  I  went;  I  slid  down  the  bank  and  caught  hold  of 
the  roof  of  the  creepers,  when  all  of  a  sudden  some  one 
took  a  pull  at  my  legs.  I  struggled,  I  shouted  for  help, 
and  in  a  minute  I  received  half-a-dozen  sabre-cuts. 
Down  came  the  dragoons  to  help  me,  and  there  was  a 
nice  little  skirmish  under  the  creepers.  The  blacks  of 
Morne-Eouge  had  hidden  themselves  there,  never  for  a 
moment  thinking  that  we  should  fall  right  on  the  top 
of  them.  This  was  not  the  right  time  for  fishing,  I  can 
tell  you.     We   fought,    we  swore,   we  shouted.     They 


76  BUG-JARGAL. 

had  nothing  particular  on,  and  were  able  to  move  about 
in  the  water  more  easily  than  we  were  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  our  sabres  had  less  to  cut  through.  We 
swam  with  one  hand  and  fought  with  the  other.  Those 
who  could  not  swim,  like  my  captain,  hung  on  to  the 
creepers,  while  the  negroes  pulled  them  by  the  legs. 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  hullabaloo  I  saw  a  big  negro 
fighting  like  Beelzebub  against  five  or  six  of  ours.  I 
swam  up  to  him,  and  recognized  Pierrot,  otherwise 
called  Bug  —  But  I  mustn't  tell  that  yet,  must  I,  Cap- 
tain ?  Since  the  capture  of  the  fort  I  owed  him  a  grudge, 
so  I  took  him  hard  and  fast  by  the  throat  ;  he  was  go- 
ing to  rid  himself  of  me  by  a  thrust  of  his  dagger,  when 
he  recognized  me,  and  gave  himself  up  at  once.  That 
was  very  unfortunate,  was  it  not,  Captain  ?  For  if  he 
had  not  surrendered,  he  would  not —  But  you  will 
know  that  later  on,  eh  ?  When  the  blacks  saw  that  he 
was  taken  they  made  a  rush  at  me  to  get  him  off;  when 
Pierrot,  seeing  no  doubt  that  they  would  all  lose  their 
lives,  said  some  gibberish  or  other,  and  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  they  plunged  into  the  water,  and  were  out  of 
sight  in  a  moment.  This  fight  in  the  water  would  have 
been  pleasant  enough  if  I  had  not  lost  a  finger  and 
wetted  ten  cartridges,  and  if  the  poor  man  —  but  it  was 
to  be,  was  it  not,  Captain  ?  " 

And  the  sergeant  respectfully  placed  the  back  of  his 
hand  to  his  forage-cap,  and  then  raised  it  to  heaven 
with  the  air  of  an  inspired  prophet. 

D'Auverney  was  violently  agitated.  "  Yes,  w  cried  he, 
"  thou  art  right,  my  old  Thaddeus  ;  that  night  was  a 
fatal  night  for  me  !  " 

He  would  have  fallen  into  one  of  his  usual  reveries 
had  they  not  urgently  pressed  him  to  conclude  his  story. 
After  a  while  he  continued. 


CHAPTEE   XXL 

WHILE  the  scene  which  Thaddeus  has  just  de- 
scribed was  passing  behind  the  camp,  I  had 
succeeded,  by  aid  of  the  brushwood,  with  some  of  my 
men  in  climbing  the  opposite  hills  until  we  had  reached 
a  point  called  Peacock  Peak,  from  the  brilliant  tints  of 
the  mica  which  coated  the  surface  of  the  rock. 

From  this  position,  which  was  opposite  a  rock  cov- 
ered with  negroes,  we  opened  a  withering  fire.  The  in- 
surgents, who  were  not  so  well  armed  as  we  were,  could 
not  reply  warmly  to  our  volleys,  and  in  a  short  time  be- 
gan to  grow  discouraged.  We  redoubled  our  efforts,  and 
our  enemies  soon  evacuated  the  neighbouring  rocks,  first 
hurling  the  dead  bodies  of  their  comrades  upon  our 
army,  the  greater  proportion  of  which  was  still  drawn 
up  on  the  hill.  Then  we  cut  down  several  trees,  and 
binding  the  trunks  together  with  fibres  of  the  palm,  we 
improvised  a  bridge,  and  by  it  crossed  over  to  the  de- 
serted positions  of  the  enemy,  and  thus  managed  to 
secure  a  good  post  of  vantage.  This  operation  com- 
pletely quenched  the  courage  of  the  rebels.  Our  fire 
continued.  Shouts  of  grief  arose  from  them,  in  which 
the  name  of  Bug-Jargal  was  frequently  repeated.  Many 
negroes  of  the  army  of  Morne-Eouge  appeared  on  the 
rock  upon  which  the  blood-red  banner  still  floated  ;  they 
prostrated  themselves  before  it,  tore  it  from  its  resting- 
place,  and  then  precipitated  it  and  themselves  into  the 
depths  of  the  Grande-Eiviere.  This  seemed  to  signify 
that  their  chief  was  either  killed  or  a  prisoner. 


78  BUG-JARGAL. 

Our  confidence  had  now  risen  to  such  a  pitch  that  I 
resolved  to  drive  them  from  their  last  position  at  the 
point  of  the  bayonet,  and  at  the  head  of  my  men  I 
dashed  into  the  midst  of  the  negroes.  The  soldiers  were 
about  to  follow  me  across  the  temporary  bridge  that  I 
had  caused  to  be  thrown  from  peak  to  peak,  when  one 
of  the  rebels  with  a  blow  of  his  axe  broke  the  bridge  to 
atoms,  and  the  ruins  fell  into  the  abyss  with  a  terrible 
noise. 

I  turned  my  head  :  in  a  moment  I  was  surrounded, 
and  seized  by  six  or  seven  negroes,  who  disarmed  me  in 
a  moment.  I  struggled  like  a  lion,  but  they  bound  me 
with  cords  made  of  bark,  heedless  of  the  hail  of  bullets 
that  my  soldiers  poured  upon  them.  My  despair  was 
somewhat  soothed  by  the  cries  of  victory  which  I  heard 
from  our  men,  and  I  soon  saw  the  negroes  and  mulattoes 
ascending  the  steep  sides  of  the  rocks  with  all  the  pre- 
cipitation of  fear,   uttering  cries  of  terror. 

My  captors  followed  their  example.  The  strongest 
among  them  placed  me  on  their  shoulders,  and  carried 
me  in  the  direction  of  the  forest,  leaping  from  rock  to 
rock  with  the  agility  of  wild  goats.  The  flames  soon 
ceased  to  light  the  scene,  and  it  was  by  the  pale  rays  of 
the  moon  that  we  pursued  our  course. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AFTER  passing  through  jungles  and  crossing  many  a 
torrent,  we  arrived  in  a  valley  situated  in  the 
higher  part  of  the  hills,  of  a  singularly  wild  and  sav- 
age appearance.  The  spot  was  absolutely  unknown  to 
me.  The  valley  was  situated  in  the  heart  of  the  hills, 
in  what  is  called  the  "double  mountains."  It  was  a 
large  green  plain,  imprisoned  by  walls  of  bare  rock,  and 
dotted  with  clumps  of  pines  and  palm  trees.  The  cold, 
which  at  this  height  is  very  severe,  was  increased  by 
the  morning  air,  the  day  having  just  commenced  to 
break  ;  but  the  valley  was  still  plunged  in  darkness, 
and  was  only  lighted  by  flashes  from  the  negroes'  fires. 
Evidently  this  spot  was  their  headquarters  ;  the  shat- 
tered remains  of  their  army  had  begun  to  reassemble, 
and  every  now  and  then  bands  of  negroes  and  mulattoes 
arrived,  uttering  groans  of  distress  and  cries  of  rage. 
New  fires  were  speedily  lighted,  and  the  camp  began  to 
increase  in  size. 

The  negro  whose  prisoner  I  was  had  placed  me  at  the 
foot  of  an  oak,  whence  I  surveyed  this  strange  spectacle 
with  entire  carelessness.  The  black  had  bound  me  with 
his  belt  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  against  which  I  was 
leaning,  and  carefully  tightening  the  knots  in  the  cords 
which  impeded  my  movements,  he  placed  on  my  head 
his  own  red  woollen  cap,  as  if  to  indicate  that  I  was  his 
property  ;  and  after  making  sure  that  I  could  not  escape 
or  be  carried  off  by  others,  he  was  preparing  to  leave  me, 


80  BUG-JARGAL. 

when  I  determined  to  address  him  ;  and  speaking  in  the 
créole  dialect,  I  asked  him  if  he  belonged  to  the  band  of 
Dondon,  or  of  Morne-Eouge.  He  stopped  at  once,  and 
in  a  tone  of  pride  replied,  "  Morne-Eouge.  "  Then  an 
idea  entered  my  head.  I  had  often  heard  of  the  gener- 
osity of  the  chief  Bug-Jargal;  and  though  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  that  death  would  soon  end  all  my  troubles, 
the  thought  of  the  tortures  that  would  inevitably  pre- 
cede it  should  I  fall  into  the  hands  of  Biassou  filled  me 
with  horror.  All  I  wanted  was  to  be  put  to  death  with- 
out torment.  It  was  perhaps  a  weakness,  but  I  believe 
that  the  mind  of  man  ever  revolts  at  such  a  death.  I 
thought  then  that  if  I  could  be  taken  from  Biassou, 
Bug-J.argal  might  give  me  what  I  desired,  — a  soldier's 
death.  I  therefore  asked  the  negro  of  Morne-Eouge  to 
lead  me  to  Bug-Jargal. 

He  started  :  "  Bug-Jargal  !  "  he  repeated,  striking  on 
his  forehead  in  anguish  ;  then,  as  if  rage  had  suddenly 
overtaken  him,  he  shook  his  fist,  and  shouting,  "  Bias- 
sou,  Biassou  !  "  he  left  me  hastily. 

The  mingled  rage  and  grief  of  the  negro  recalled  to 
my  mind  the  events  of  the  day,  and  the  certainty  we 
had  acquired  of  either  the  death  or  capture  of  the  chief 
of  the  band  of  Morne-Eouge.  I  felt  that  all  hope  was 
over,  and  resigned  myself  to  the  threatened  vengeance 
of  Biassou. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

A  GROUP  of  négresses  came  near  the  tree  to  which 
I  was  fastened,  and  lit  a  fire.  By  the  numerous 
bracelets  of  blue,  red,  and  violet  glass  which  ornamented 
their  arms  and  ankles  ;  by  the  rings  which  weighed 
down  their  ears  and  adorned  their  toes  and  fingers  ;  by 
the  amulets  on  their  bosoms  and  the  collar  of  charms 
suspended  round  their  necks  ;  by  the  aprons  of  varie- 
gated feathers  which  were  their  sole  coverings,  —  I  at 
once  recognized  them  as  griotes.  You  are  perhaps  igno- 
rant that  among  the  African  blacks  there  exists  a  certain 
class  with  a  rude  talent  for  poetry  and  improvisation, 
which  approaches  closely  to  madness.  These  unhappy 
creatures,  wandering  from  one  African  kingdom  to  an- 
other, are  in  these  barbarian  countries  looked  upon  in 
the  same  light  as  the  minstrels  of  England,  the  minne- 
singers of  Germany,  and  the  troubadours  of  France. 
They  are  called  "  griots,  "  and  their  wives  "  griotes.  n 
The  griotes  accompany  the  barbaric  songs  of  their  hus- 
bands with  lascivious  dances,  and  form  a  grotesque 
parody  on  the  nautch  girls  of  India  and  the  almes  of 
Egypt. 

It  was  a  group  of  these  women  who  came  and  sat 
down  near  me,  with  their  legs  crossed  under  them  ac- 
cording to  their  custom,  and  their  hideous  faces  lighted 
up  by  the  red  light  of  a  fire  of  withered  branches. 
When  they  had  formed  a  complete  circle  they  all  joined 
hands,  and  the  eldest,  who  had  a  heron's  plume  stuck 


82  BUG-JARGAL. 

in  her  hair,  began  to  exclaim,  "  Ouanga !"  I  at  once 
understood  that  they  were  going  through  one  of  their 
performances  of  pretended  witchcraft.  Then  the  leader 
of  the  band,  after  a  moment's  silence,  plucked  a  lock 
of  hair  from  her  head  and  threw  it  into  the  fire,  crying 
out  these  words,  "  Male  o  guiab,  "  which  in  the  jargon 
of  the  créoles  means,  "  I  shall  go  to  the  devil.  "  All 
the  griotes  imitated  their  leader,  and  throwing  locks  of 
their  hair  in  the  fire,  repeated  gravely,  "  Male  o  guiab.  " 
This  strange  invocation,  and  the  extraordinary  grimaces 
that  accompanied  it,  caused  me  to  burst  into  one  of 
those  hysterical  fits  of  laughter  which  so  often  seize  on 
one  even  at  the  most  serious  moments.  It  was  in  vain 
that  I  endeavoured  to  restrain  it,  —  it  would  have  vent  ; 
and  this  laugh,  which  escaped  from  so  sad  a  heart, 
brought  about  a  gloomy  and  terrifying  scene. 

Disturbed  in  their  incantations,  the  négresses  sprang 
to  their  feet.  Until  then  they  had  not  noticed  me,  but 
now  they  rushed  close  up  to  me,  screaming  "  Blanco, 
Blanco  !  "  I  have  never  seen  so  hideous  a  collection  of 
faces,  contorted  as  they  were  with  passion,  their  white 
teeth  gleaming,  and  their  eyes  almost  starting  from  their 
heads.  They  were,  I  believe,  about  to  tear  me  in  pieces, 
when  the  old  woman  with  the  heron's  plume  on  her 
head  stopped  them  with  a  sign  of  her  hand,  and  ex- 
claimed seven  times,  "  Zoté  cordé  1  "  ("  Do  you  agree  ?  ") 
The  wretched  creatures  stopped  at  once,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise tore  off  their  feather  aprons,  which  they  flung 
upon  the  ground,  and  commenced  the  lascivious  dance 
which  the  negroes  call  "  La  chica.  " 

This  dance,  which  should  only  consist  of  attitudes 
and  movements  expressive  of  gaiety  and  pleasure,  as- 
sumed a  very  different  complexion  when  performed  by 
these  naked  sorceresses.  In  turn,  each  of  them  would 
place    her  face    close   to   mine,   and   with   a    frightful 


BUG-JARGAL.  83 

expression  of  countenance  would  detail  the  horrible  pun- 
ishment that  awaited  the  white  man  who  had  profaned 
the  mysteries  of  their  Ouanga.  I  recollected  that  sav- 
age nations  had  a  custom  of  dancing  round  the  victims 
that  they  were  about  to  sacrifice,  and  I  patiently  awaited 
the  conclusion  of  the  performance  which  I  knew  would 
be  sealed  with  my  blood  ;  and  yet  I  could  not  repress  a 
shudder  as  I  perceived  each  griote,  in  strict  unison  with 
the  time,  thrust  into  the  fire  the  point  of  a  sabre,  the 
blade  of  an  axe,  a  long  sail-maker's  needle,  a  pair  of 
pincers,  and  the  teeth  of  a  saw. 

The  dance  was  approaching  its  conclusion,  and  the 
instruments  of  torture  were  glowing  red  with  heat.  At 
a  signal  from  the  old  woman,  each  negress  in  turn  with- 
drew an  implement  from  the  fire,  while  those  who  had 
none  furnished  themselves  with  a  blazing  stick.  Then 
I  understood  clearly  what  my  punishment  was  to  be, 
and  that  in  each  of  the  dancers  I  should  find  an  execu- 
tioner. Again  the  word  of  command  was  given,  and 
the  last  figure  of  the  dance  was  commenced.  I  closed 
my  eyes  that  I  might  not  see  the  frantic  evolutions  of 
these  female  demons,  who  in  measured  cadence  clashed 
the  red-hot  weapons  over  their  heads.  A  dull,  clinking 
sound  followed,  while  the  sparks  flew  out  in  myriads. 
I  waited,  nerving  myself  for  the  moment  when  I  should 
feel  my  flesh  quiver  in  agony,  my  bones  calcine,  and 
my  muscles  writhe  under  the  burning  tortures  of  the 
nippers  and  the  saws.  It  was  an  awful  moment.  For- 
tunately it  did  not  last  long. 

In  the  distance  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  negro  whose 
prisoner  I  was,  shouting,  "  Que  haceis,  mujeres,  ne 
demonio,  que  haceis  alii,  devais  mi  prisonero  ?  "  I 
opened  my  eyes  again;  it  was  already  broad  daylight. 
The  negro  hurried  towards  me,  gesticulating  angrily. 
The  griotes    paused,    but   they   seemed   less   influenced 


84  BUG-JARGAL. 

by  the  threats  of  my  captor  than  by  the  presence  of 
a  strange-looking  person  by  whom  the  negro  was 
accompanied. 

It  was  a  very  stout  and  very  short  man,  —  a  species 
of  dwarf,  —  whose  face  was  entirely  concealed  by  a  white 
veil,  pierced  with  three  holes  for  the  eyes  and  mouth. 
The  veil  hung  down  to  his  shoulders,  and  displayed  a 
hairy,  copper-hued  breast,  upon  which  was  hung  by  a 
golden  chain  the  mutilated  sun  of  a  monstrance.  The 
cross-hilt  of  a  heavy  dagger  peeped  from  a  scarlet  belt, 
which  also  supported  a  kind  of  petticoat  striped  with 
green,  yellow,  and  black,  the  hem  of  which  hung  down 
to  his  large  and  ill-shaped  feet.  His  arms,  like  his 
breast,  were  bare  ;  he  carried  a  white  staff,  and  a  rosary 
of  amber  beads  was  suspended  from  his  belt,  in  close 
proximity  to  the  handle  of  his  dagger.  His  head  was 
surmounted  with  a  pointed  cap  adorned  with  bells  ;  and 
when  he  came  close  I  was  not  surprised  in  recognizing 
in  it  the  gorra  of  Habibrah,  and  among  the  hieroglyphics 
with  which  it  was  covered  I  could  see  many  spots  of 
gore  :  without  doubt,  it  was  the  blood  of  the  faithful 
fool.  These  blood-stains  gave  me  fresh  proofs  of  his 
death,  and  awakened  in  me  once  again  a  fresh  feeling  of 
regret  for  his  loss. 

Directly  the  griotes  recognized  the  wearer  of  Habi- 
brah's  cap,  they  cried  out  all  at  once.  "  The  Obi  !  "  and 
prostrated  themselves  before  him.  I  guessed  at  once 
that  this  was  a  sorcerer  attached  to  Biassou's  force. 

"  Basta,  basta  "  ("  enough  "),  said  he,  in  a  grave  and 
solemn  voice,  as  he  came  close  up  to  them.  "  Devais  el 
prisonero  de  Biassou.  "  ("  Let  the  prisoner  be  taken  to 
Biassou.  ") 

All  the  négresses  leaped  to  their  feet  and  cast  their 
implements  of  torture  on  one  side,  put  on  their  aprons, 
and  at  a  gesture  of  the  Obi  fled  like  a  cloud  of  grass- 
hoppers. 


BUG-JARGAL.  85 

At  this  instant  the  glance  of  the  Obi  fell  upon  me. 
He  started  back  a  pace,  and  half  waved  his  white  staff 
in  the  direction  of  the  retiring  griotes,  as  if  he  wished 
to  recall  them  ;  then  muttering  between  his  teeth  the 
word  "  Maldicho  "  ("  accursed  "),  he  whispered  a  few 
words  in  the  ear  of  the  negro,  and  crossing  his  arms 
retired  slowly,  apparently  buried  in  deep  thought. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MY  captor  informed  me  that  Biassou  had  asked  to 
see  me,  and  that  in  an  hour  I  should  be  brought 
before  him.  This,  I  calculated,  gave  me  another  hour 
in  which  to  live.  Until  that  time  had  elapsed,  I  al- 
lowed my  glances  to  wander  over  the  rebel  camp,  the 
singular  appearance  of  which  the  daylight  permitted  me 
to  observe. 

Had  I  been  in  any  other  position,  I  should  have 
laughed  heartily  at  the  ostentatious  vanity  of  the  ne- 
groes, who  were  nearly  all  decked  out  in  fragments  of 
clerical  and  military  dress,  the  spoils  of  their  victims. 
The  greater  portion  of  these  ornaments  were  not  new, 
consisting  of  torn  and  blood-stained  rags.  A  gorget 
could  often  be  seen  shining  over  a  stole,  while  an  epau- 
let looked  strange  when  contrasted  with  a  chasuble.  To 
make  amends  for  former  years  of  toil,  the  negroes  now 
maintained  a  state  of  utter  inaction  :  some  of  them  slept 
exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  their  heads  close  to  a 
burning  fire;  others,  with  eyes  that  were  sometimes  full 
of  listlessness,  and  at  others  blazed  with  fury,  sat  chant- 
ing a  monotonous  air  at  the  doors  of  their  ajoupas,  —  a 
species  of  hut  with  conical  roofs  somewhat  resembling 
our  artillery  tents,  but  thatched  with  palm  or  banana 
leaves.  Their  black  or  copper-coloured  wives,  aided  by 
the  negro  children,  prepared  the  food  for  the  fighting- 
men.  I  could  see  them  stirring  up  with  long  forks, 
ignames,  bananas,    yams,   peas,    cocus   and    maize,  and 


BUG-JARGAL.  87 

other  vegetables  indigenous  to  the  country,  which  were 
boiling  with  joints  of  pork,  turtle,  and  dog  in  the  great 
boilers  stolen  from  the  dwellings  of  the  planters.  In 
the  distance,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  camp,  the  griots  and 
griotes  formed  large  circles  round  the  fires,  and  the  wind 
every  now  and  then  brought  to  my  ears  strange  frag- 
ments of  their  barbaric  songs,  mingled  with  notes  from 
their  tambourines  and  guitars.  A  few  videttes  posted 
on  the  high  ground  watched  over  the  headquarters  of 
General  Biassou,  —  the  only  defence  of  which  in  case  of 
attack  was  a  circle  of  wagons  tilled  with  plunder  and 
ammunition.  These  black  sentries  posted  on  the  sum- 
mits of  the  granite  pyramids,  with  which  the  valley 
bristled,  turned  about  like  the  weathercocks  in  Gothic 
spires,  and  with  all  the  strength  of  their  lungs  shouted 
one  to  the  other  the  cry  of  "  Nada,  nada  !  "  ("  Nothing, 
nothing!")  which  showed  that  the  camp  was  in  full 
security.  Every  now  and  then  groups  of  negroes,  in- 
spired by  curiosity,  collected  round  me,  but  all  looked 
upon  me  with  a  threatening  expression  of  countenance. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AT  length  an  escort  of  negro  soldiers,  very  fairly 
equipped,  arrived.  The  negro  whose  property  I 
appeared  to  be  unfastened  me  from  the  oak  to  which  I 
was  bound,  and  handed  me  over  to  the  escort,  receiving  in 
exchange  a  bag  full  of  piastres.  As  he  lay  upon  the  grass 
counting  them  with  every  appearance  of  delight,  I  was 
led  away  by  the  soldiers.  My  escort  wore  a  uniform  of 
coarse  cloth,  of  a  reddish-brown  colour,  with  yellow 
facings  ;  their  head-dress  was  a  Spanish  cap  called  a 
montera,  ornamented  with  a  large  red  cockade.  Instead 
of  a  cartouche  case,  they  had  a  species  of  game-bag  slung 
at  their  sides.  Their  arms  were  a  heavy  musket,  a 
sabre,  and  a  dagger.  I  afterwards  learned  that  these 
men  formed  the  body-guard  of  Biassou. 

After  a  circuitous  route  through  the  rows  of  ajoupas 
which  were  scattered  all  over  the  place,  I  came  to  a 
cave  which  Nature  had  hollowed  out  in  one  of  those 
masses  of  rock  with  which  the  meadow  was  full.  A 
large  curtain  of  some  material  from  the  looms  of  Thibet, 
which  the  negroes  called  katchmir,  and  which  is  remark- 
able less  for  the  brilliancy  of  its  colouring  than  for  the 
softness  of  its  material,  concealed  the  interior  of  the 
cavern  from  the  vulgar  gaze.  The  entrance  was  guarded 
by  a  double  line  of  negroes,  dressed  like  those  who  had 
escorted  me  thither. 

After  the  countersign  had  been  exchanged  with  the 
sentries  who  marched  backwards  and  forwards  before  the 


BUG-JARGAL.  89 

cave,  the  commander  of  the  escort  raised  the  curtain 
sufficiently  for  me  to  enter,  and  then  let  it  drop  behind 
me.  A  copper  lamp  with  six  lights,  hung  by  a  chain 
from  the  roof  of  the  grotto,  cast  a  flickering  light  upon 
the  damp  walls.  Between  the  ranks  of  mulatto  soldiers 
I  perceived  a  coloured  man  sitting  upon  a  large  block  of 
mahogany,  which  was  partially  covered  with  a  carpet 
made  of  parrots'  feathers.  His  dress  was  of  the  most 
absurd  kind.  A  splendid  silk  girdle,  from  which  hung 
a  cross  of  Saint  Louis,  held  up  a  pair  of  common  blue 
trousers,  while  a  waistcoat  of  white  linen  which  did  not 
meet  the  waistband  of  the  trousers  completed  the  strange 
costume.  He  wore  high  boots,  and  a  round  hat  with  a 
red  cockade,  and  epaulets,  —  one  of  gold  with  silver 
stars,  like  those  worn  by  brigadiers  ;  while  the  other 
was  of  red-worsted,  with  two  copper  stars  (which  seemed 
to  have  been  taken  from  a  pair  of  spurs)  fixed  upon  it, 
evidently  to  render  it  more  worthy  of  its  resplendent 
neighbour.  A  sabre  and  a  pair  of  richly  chased  pistols 
lay  by  his  side.  Behind  him  were  two  white  children 
dressed  in  the  costume  of  slaves,  bearing  large  fans  of 
peacock  feathers. 

Two  squares  of  crimson  velvet,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  stolen  from  some  church,  were  placed  on  either  side 
of  the  mahogany  block.  One  of  these  was  occupied  by 
the  Obi  who  had  rescued  me  from  the  frenzy  of  the 
griotes.  He  was  seated  with  his  legs  crossed  under  him, 
holding  in  his  hand  his  white  wand,  and  not  moving  a 
muscle  :  he  looked  like  a  porcelain  idol  in  a  Chinese 
pagoda,  but  through  the  holes  in  his  veil  I  could  see  his 
flashing  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  upon  mine. 

Upon  each  side  of  the  general  were  trophies  of  flags, 
banners,  and  pennons  of  all  kinds.  Among  them  I  no- 
ticed the  white  flag  with  the  lilies,  the  tricolour,  and 
the  banner  of  Spain  ;  the  others  were  covered  with  fancy 


90  BUG-JARGAL. 

devices.  I  also  perceived  a  large  standard  entirely  black. 
At  the  end  of  the  grotto,  I  saw  a  portrait  of  the  mulatto 
Ogé  who,  together  with  his  lieutenant  Jean  Charanne, 
had  been  broken  on  the  wheel  the  year  previous  for  the 
crime  of  rebellion.  Twenty  of  his  accomplices,  blacks 
and  mulattoes,  suffered  with  him.  In  this  painting  Ogé, 
the  son  of  a  butcher  at  Cap,  was  represented  in  the  uni- 
form of  a  lieutenant-colonel,  and  decorated  with  the 
star  of  Saint  Louis  and  the  Order  of  Merit  of  the  Lion, 
which  last  he  had  purchased  from  the  Prince  of  Limburg. 

The  negro  general  into  whose  presence  I  had  been 
introduced  was  short  and  of  vulgar  aspect,  while  his 
face  showed  a  strange  mixture  of  cunning  and  cruelty. 
After  looking  at  me  for  some  time  in  silence,  with  a 
bitter  omen  on  his  face,  he  said,  — 

"  I  am  Biassou.  " 

I  expected  this,  but  I  could  not  hear  it  from  his 
mouth,  distorted  as  it  was  by  a  cruel  smile,  without  an 
inward  trembling  ;  yet  my  face  remained  unchanged, 
and  I  made  no  reply. 

"  Well,  "  continued  he,  in  his  bad  French,  "  have  they 
already  empaled  you,  that  you  are  unable  to  bend  before 
Biassou,  generalissimo  of  this  conquered  land,  and  brig- 
adier of  his  Most  Catholic  Majesty  ?  "  (The  rebel  chiefs 
sometimes  affected  to  be  acting  for  the  King  of  France, 
sometimes  for  the  Republic,  and  at  others  for  the  King 
of  Spain.) 

I  crossed  my  arms  upon  my  chest,  and  looked  him 
firmly  in  the  face. 

He  again  sneered.  "  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  he  ;  "  me  pareces 
hombre  de  buen  corazon  ("  you  seem  a  courageous  man  ")  ; 
well,  listen  to  my  questions.  Were  you  born  in  the 
island  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  a  Frenchman.  * 

My  calmness  irritated  him.    "  All  the  better;  I  see  by 


BUG-JARGAL.  91 

your   uniform   that  you  are   an   officer.     How  old  are 
you?" 

u  Twenty.  " 

u  When  were  you  twenty  ?  " 

To  this  question,  which  aroused  in  me  all  the  recollec- 
tion of  my  misery,  I  could  not  at  first  find  words  to  re- 
ply.    He  repeated  it  imperiously. 

"  The  day  upon  which  Leogri  was  hung,  "  answered  I. 

An  expression  of  rage  passed  over  his  face  as  he  an- 
swered, "  It  is  twenty-three  days  since  Leogri  was  exe- 
cuted. Frenchman,  when  you  meet  him  this  evening 
you  may  tell  him  from  me  that  you  lived  twenty -four 
days  longer  than  he  did.  I  will  spare  you  for  to-day  ;  I 
wish  you  to  tell  him  of  the  liberty  that  his  brethren 
have  gained,  and  what  you  have  seen  at  the  headquar- 
ters of  General  Jean  Biassou.  " 

Then  he  ordered  me  to  sit  down  in  one  corner  between 
two  of  his  guards,  and  with  a  motion  of  his  hand  to  some 
of  his  men,  who  wore  the  uniform  of  aides-de-camp,  he 
said,  "  Let  the  Assembly  be  sounded,  that  we  may  in- 
spect the  whole  of  our  troops  ;  and  you,  your  reverence,  " 
he  added,  turning  to  the  Obi,  "  put  on  your  priestly 
vestments,  and  perform  for  our  army  the  holy  sacrament 
of  the  Mass.  " 

The  Obi  rose,  bowed  profoundly,  and  whispered  a 
word  or  two  in  the  general's  ear. 

"  What,  "  cried  the  latter,  "  no  altar  !  but  never  mind, 
the  good  Giu  has  no  need  of  a  magnificent  temple  for 
His  worship.  Gideon  and  Joshua  adored  Him  before 
masses  of  rock  ;  let  us  do  as  they  did.  All  that  is  re- 
quired is  that  the  hearts  should  be  true.  No  altar,  you 
say  !  why  not  make  one  of  that  great  chest  of  sugar 
which  we  took  yesterday  from  Dubussion's  house?" 

This  suggestion  of  Biassou  was  promptly  carried  into 
execution.     In  an  instant  the  interior  of  the  cave  was 


92  BUG-JARGAL, 

arranged  for  a  burlesque  of  the  divine  ceremony.  A 
pyx  and  a  monstrance  stolen  from  the  parish  church  of 
Acul  were  promptly  produced  (the  very  church  in  which 
my  nuptials  with  Marie  had  been  celebrated,  and  where 
we  had  received  Heaven's  blessing,  which  had  so  soon 
changed  to  a  curse).  The  stolen  chest  of  sugar  was 
speedily  made  into  an  altar  and  covered  with  a  white 
cloth,  through  which,  however,  the  words  "  Dubussion 
and  Company  for  Nantes  "  could  be  plainly  perceived. 

When  the  sacred  vessels  had  been  placed  on  the  altar, 
the  Obi  perceived  that  the  crucifix  was  wanting.  He 
drew  his  dagger,  which  had  a  cross  handle,  and  stuck  it 
into  the  wood  of  the  case  in  front  of  the  pyx.  Then 
without  removing  his  cap  or  veil,  he  threw  the  cope 
which  had  been  stolen  from  the  priest  of  Acul  over  his 
shoulders  and  bare  chest,  opened  the  silver  clasps  of  the 
missal  from  which  the  prayers  had  been  read  on  my  ill- 
fated,  marriage  day,  and  turning  towards  Biassou,  whose 
seat  was  a  few  paces  from  the  altar,  announced  to  him 
that  all  was  ready. 

On  a  sign  from  the  general  the  katchmir  curtains  were 
drawn  aside,  and  the  insurgent  army  was  seen  drawn 
up  in  close  column  before  the  entrance  to  the  grotto. 
Biassou  removed  his  hat  and  knelt  before  the  altar. 

"  On  your  knees  !  "  he  cried,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  On  your  knees  !  "  repeated  the  commander  of  the 
battalions. 

The  drums  were  beaten,  and  all  the  insurgents  fell 
upon  their  knees.  I  alone  refused  to  move,  disgusted  at 
this  vile  profanation  about  to  be  enacted  under  my  very 
eyes  ;  but  the  two  powerful  mulattoes  who  guarded  me 
pulled  my  seat  from  under  me,  and  pressed  heavily  upon 
my  shoulders,  so  that  I  fell  on  my  knees,  compelled  to 
pay  a  semblance  of  respect  to  this  parody  of  a  religious 
ceremony.     The  Obi  performed  his  duties  with  affected 


JBUG-JARGAL.  93 

solemnity,  while  the  two  white  pages  of  Biassou  offi- 
ciated as  deacon  and  sub-deacon.  The  insurgents, 
prostrated  before  the  altar,  assisted  at  the  ceremony 
with  the  greatest  enthusiasm,  the  general  setting  the 
example. 

At  the  moment  of  the  exaltation  of  the  host,  the  Obi 
raising  in  his  hands  the  consecrated  vessel  exclaimed  in 
his  créole  jargon,  "  Zoté  coné  bon  Giu  ;  ce  li  mo  fé  zoté 
voer.  Blan  touyé  li  :  touyé  blan  yo  toute  !  "  (*  You 
see  your  good  God  ;  I  am  showing  Him  to  you.  The 
white  men  killed  Him  :    kill  all  the  whites  !  ") 

At  these  words,  pronounced  in  a  loud  voice,  the  tones 
of  which  had  something  in  them  familiar  to  my  ear,  all 
the  rebels  uttered  a  loud  shout,  and  clashed  their  weap- 
ons together.  Had  it  not  been  for  Biassou 's  influence, 
that  hour  would  have  been  my  last.  To  such  atrocities 
may  men  be  driven  who  use  the  dagger  for  a  cross,  and 
upon  whose  mind  the  most  trivial  event  makes  a  deep 
and  profound  impression. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI 

AT  the  termination  of  the  ceremony  the  Obi  bowed 
respectfully  to  Biassou  ;  then  the  general  rose 
and,  addressing  me  in  French,  said,  — 

"  We  are  accused  of  having  no  religion.  You  see  it 
is  a  falsehood,  and  that  we  are  good  Catholics.  " 

I  do  not  know  whether  he  spoke  ironically  or  in  good 
faith.  A  few  moments  later  he  called  for  a  glass  bowl 
filled  with  grains  of  black  maize  ;  on  the  top  he  threw 
some  white  maize,  then  he  raised  it  high  in  his  hand  so 
that  all  the  army  might  see  it. 

"  Brothers,  "  cried  he,  "  you  are  the  black  maize  ;  your 
enemies  are  the  white  maize.  " 

With  these  words  he  shook  the  bowl,  and  in  an  in- 
stant the  white  grains  had  disappeared  beneath  the 
black  ;  and,  as  though  inspired,  he  cried  out,  "  Where 
are  the  white  now  ?  " 

The  mountains  re-echoed  with  the  shouts  with  which 
the  illustration  of  the  general  was  received  ;  and  Biassou 
continuing  his  harangue,  mixed  up  French,  créole  dia- 
lect, and  Spanish  alternately  :  — 

"  The  season  for  temporizing  has  passed  ;  for  a  long 
time  we  have  been  as  patient  as  the  sheep  to  whose  wool 
the  whites  compare  our  hair  ;  let  us  now  be  as  implaca- 
ble as  the  panthers  or  the  tigers  of  the  countries  from 
which  they  have  torn  us.  Force  alone  can  obtain  for  us 
our  rights  ;  and  everything  can  be  obtained  by  those  who 
use  their  force  without  pity.     Saint  Loup   [Wolf]  has 


BUG-JARGAL.  95 

two  days  in  the  year  consecrated  to  him  in  the  Grego- 
rian calendar,  while  the  Paschal  Lamb  has  but  one. 
Am  not  I  correct,  your  reverence  ?  " 

The  Obi  bowed  in  sign  of  corroboration.' 

"  They  have  come,  "  continued  Biassou,  —  "  these  ene- 
mies of  ours  have  come  as  enemies  of  the  regeneration 
of  humanity  ;  these  whites,  these  planters,  these  men  of 
business,  veritable  devils  vomited  from  the  mouth  of 
hell.  They  came  in  the  insolence  of  their  pride,  in 
their  fine  dresses,  their  uniforms,  their  feathers,  their 
magnificent  arms  ;  they  despised  us  because  we  were 
black  and  naked,  in  their  overbearing  haughtiness  ; 
they  thought  that  they  could  drive  us  before  them  as 
easily  as  these  peacock  feathers  disperse  the  swarms  of 
sandflies  and  mosquitoes.  " 

As  he  uttered  these  concluding  words,  he  snatched 
from  the  hands  of  his  white  slaves  one  of  the  large  fans, 
and  waved  it  over  his  head  with  a  thousand  eccentric 
gesticulations.     Then  he  continued  :  — 

"  But,  my  brethren,  we  burst  upon  them  like  flies 
upon  a  carcass  ;  they  have  fallen  in  their  fine  uniforms 
beneath  the  strokes  of  our  naked  arms,  which  they  be- 
lieved to  be  without  power,  ignorant  that  good  wood  is 
the  stronger  when  the  bark  is  stripped  off  ;  and  now  these 
accursed  tyrants  tremble,  and  are  filled  with  fear.  " 

A  triumphant  yell  rose  in  answer  to  the  general's 
speech,  and  all  the  army  repeated,  "  They  are  filled  with 
fear  !  " 

"  Blacks,  Creoles,  and  Congos,  "  added  Biassou.  "  ven- 
geance and  liberty  !  Mulattoes,  do  not  be  led  away  by 
the  temptations  of  the  white  men  !  Your  fathers  serve 
in  their  ranks,  but  your  mothers  are  with  us  ;  besides,  '  O 
bermanos  de  mi  alma  '  ('  0  brethren  of  my  soul  ')  have 
they  ever  acted  as  fathers  to  you  ?  Have  they  not  rather 
been  cruel  masters,  and  treated  you  as  slaves,  because  you 


D6  BUG-JARGAL. 

had  the  blood  of  your  mothers  in  your  veins  ?  While  a 
miserable  cotton  garment  covered  your  bodies  scorched 
by  the  sun,  your  cruel  fathers  went  about  in  straw  hats 
and  nankeen  clothes  on  work-days,  and  in  cloth  and 
velvet  on  holidays  and  feasts.  Curses  be  on  their  un- 
natural hearts  !  But  as  the  holy  commandments  forbid 
you  to  strike  your  father,  abstain  from  doing  so  ;  but  in 
the  day  of  battle  what  hinders  you  from  turning  to  your 
comrade  and  saying,  '  Touyé  papa  moé,  ma  touyé  quena 
toué  !  '  ('Kill  my  father,  and  I  will  kill  yours  I  ')  Ven- 
geance then,  my  brethren,  and  liberty  for  all  men  !  This 
cry  has  found  an  echo  in  every  part  of  the  island  ;  it  has 
roused  Tobago  and  Cuba.  It  was  Bouckmann,  a  negro 
from  Jamaica,  the  leader  of  the  twenty-five  fugitive 
slaves  of  the  Blue  Mountain,  who  raised  the  standard  of 
revolt  among  us.  A  glorious  victory  was  the  first  proof 
that  he  gave  of  his  brotherhood  with  the  negroes  of  St. 
Domingo.  Let  us  follow  his  noble  example,  with  an 
axe  in  one  hand  and  a  torch  in  the  other.  No  mercy  for 
the  whites,  no  mercy  for  the  planters  !  let  us  massacre 
their  families,  and  destroy  their  plantations  !  Do  not 
allow  a  tree  to  remain  standing  on  their  estates  ;  let  us 
upturn  the  very  earth  itself  that  it  may  swallow  up  our 
white  oppressors  !  Courage  then,  friends  and  brethren  ! 
we  will  fight  them  and  sweep  them  from  the  face  of  the 
earth.  We  will  conquer  or  die.  As  victors,  we  shall 
enjoy  all  the  pleasures  of  life  ;  and  if  we  fall,  the  saints 
are  ready  to  receive  us  in  heaven,  where  each  warrior 
will  receive  a  double  ration  of  brandy  and  a  silver 
piastre  each  day  !  " 

This  warlike  discourse,  which  to  you  appears  perfectly 
ridiculous,  had  a  tremendous  effect  on  the  insurgents. 
It  is  true  that  Biassou's  wild  gesticulations,  the  manner 
in  which  his  voice  rose  and  fell,  and  the  strange  sneer 
which  every  now  and  then  appeared  on  his  lips,   im- 


BUG-JARGAL.  97 

parted  to  his  speech  a  strange  amount  of  power  and  fas- 
cination. The  skill  with  which  he  alluded  to  those 
points  that  would  have  the  greatest  weight  with  the 
negroes  added  a  degree  of  force  which  told  well  with  his 
audience. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  to  you  the  outburst  of 
determined  enthusiasm  which  the  harangue  of  Biassou 
roused  among  the  rebels.  There  arose  at  once  a  discord- 
ant chorus  of  howls,  yells,  and  shouts.  Some  beat  their 
naked  breasts,  others  dashed  their  clubs  and  sabres  to- 
gether. Many  threw  themselves  on  their  knees,  and 
remained  in  that  position  as  though  in  rapt  ecstasy. 
The  négresses  tore  their  breasts  and  arms  with  their 
fish-bone  combs.  The  sounds  of  drums,  tomtoms,  gui- 
tars, and  tambourines  were  mingled  with  the  discharge 
of  firearms.      It  was  a  veritable  witches'  Sabbath. 

Biassou  raised  his  hand,  and  as  if  by  enchantment 
the  tumult  was  stilled,  and  each  negro  returned  to  his 
place  in  the  ranks  in  silence.  The  discipline  which 
Biassou  had  imposed  upon  his  equals  by  the  exercise  of 
his  power  of  will  struck  me,  I  may  say,  with  admira- 
tion. All  the  soldiers  of  the  force  seemed  to  exist  only 
to  obey  the  wishes  of  their  chief,  as  the  notes  of  the 
harpsichord  under  the  fingers  of  the  musician. 


CHAPTER   XXVTL 


f^HE  spectacle  of  another  example  of  the  powers  of 
■*■      fascination  and   deception  now   attracted   my  at- 
tention.     This  was  the  healing  of  the  wounded. 

The  Obi,  who  in  the  army  performed  the  double  func- 
tions of  healer  of  souls  and  bodies,  began  his  inspection 
of  his  patients.  He  had  taken  off  his  sacerdotal  robes, 
and  was  seated  before  a  large  box  in  which  he  kept  his 
drugs  and  instruments.  He  used  the  latter  very  rarely, 
but  occasionally  drew  blood  skilfully  enough  with  a 
lancet  made  of  fish-bone  ;  but  he  appeared  to  me  to  use 
the  knife,  which  in  his  hands  replaced  the  scalpel,  rather 
clumsily.  In  most  cases  he  contented  himself  with  pre- 
scribing orange-flower  water,  or  sarsaparilla,  and  a 
mouthful  of  old  rum.  His  favourite  remedy,  however, 
and  one  which  he  said  was  an  infallible  panacea  for 
all  ills,  was  composed  of  three  glasses  of  red  wine,  in 
which  was  some  grated  nutmeg  and  the  yolk  of  an 
egg  boiled  hard  ;  he  employed  this  specific  for  almost 
every  malady.  You  will  understand  that  his  knowledge 
of  medicine  was  as  great  a  farce  as  his  pretended  reli- 
gion ;  and  it  is  probable  that  the  small  number  of  cures 
that  he  effected  would  not  have  secured  the  confidence 
of  the  negroes  had  he  not  had  recourse  to  all  sorts  of 
mummeries  and  incantations,  and  acted  as  much  upon 
their  imaginations  as  upon  their  bodies.  Thus,  he 
never  examined  their  wounds  without  performing  some 
mysterious   signs;    while  at   other  times    he   skilfully 


BUG-JARGAL.  99 

mingled  together  religion  and  negro  superstition,  and 
would  put  into  their  wounds  a  little  fetish  stone  wrapped 
in  a  morsel  of  lint,  and  the  patient  would  credit  the  stone 
with  the  healing  effects  of  the  lint.  If  any  one  came  to 
announce  to  him  the  death  of  a  patient,  he  would  an- 
swer solemnly  :  "  I  foresaw  it  ;  he  was  a  traitor  :  in  the 
burning  of  such  and  such  a  house  he  spared  a  white 
man's  life  ;  his  death  was  a  judgment,  "  —  and  the  won- 
dering crowd  of  rebels  applauded  him  as  he  thus  in- 
creased their  deadly  hatred  for  their  adversaries. 

This  impostor,  among  other  methods,  employed  one 
which  amused  me  by  its  singularity.  One  of  the  negro 
chiefs  had  been  badly  wounded  in  the  last  action.  The 
Obi  examined  the  wound  attentively,  dressed  it  as  well 
as  he  was  able,  then,  mounting  the  altar,  exclaimed, 
"  All  this  is  nothing.  "  He  then  tore  two  or  three  leaves 
from  the  missal,  burnt  them  to  ashes,  and  mingling  them 
with  some  wine  in  the  sacramental  cup,  cried  to  the 
wounded  man,  "  Drink  !  this  is  the  true  remedy.  "  The 
patient,  stupidly  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  impostor,  drank, 
while  the  Obi  with  raised  hands  seemed  to  call  down 
blessings  on  his  head;  and  it  may  be  the  conviction 
that  he  was  healed  which  brought  about  his  cure. 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 

ANOTHER  scene  in  which  the  Obi  also  played  the 
principal  part  succeeded  to  this.  The  physician 
had  taken  the  place  of  the  priest,  and  the  sorcerer  now 
replaced  the  physician. 

"  Listen,  men  !  *  cried  the  Obi,  leaping  with  incredi- 
ble agility  upon  the  improvised  altar,  and  sinking  down 
with  his  legs  crossed  under  his  striped  petticoat,  — ■ 
"  listen.  Who  will  dive  into  the  book  of  fate  ?  I  can 
foretell  the  future.  '  He'  estudiado  la  cienca  de  los 
Gitanos  '  ('  I  have  studied  the  sciences  of  the  gipsies  '). 
A  crowd  of  mulattoes  and  negroes  hurriedly  crowded  up 
to  him.  "  One  by  one,  "  said  the  Obi,  in  that  voice 
which  called  to  my  mind  some  remembrances  that  I 
could  not  quite  collect.  "  If  you  come  all  together,  al- 
together you  will  enter  the  tomb.  " 

They  stopped.  Just  then  a  coloured  man  dressed  in 
a  white  jacket  and  trousers,  with  a  bandana  handker- 
chief tied  round  his  head,  entered  the  cave.  Consterna- 
tion was  depicted  on  his  countenance. 

"  Well,  Rigaud,  "  said  the  general,  "  what  is  it  ?  * 

Rigaud,  sometimes  called  General  Rigaud,  was  at  the 
head  of  the  mulatto  insurgents  at  Lagu,  ■ —  a  man  who 
concealed  much  cunning  under  an  appearance  of  candour, 
and  cruelty  beneath  the  mask  of  humanity,  I  looked 
upon  him  with  much  attention. 

"  General,  "  whispered  Rigaud,  but  as  I  was  close  to 
them  I  could  catch  every  word,  "  on  the  outskirts  of  the 


BUG-JARGAL.  101 

camp  there  is  a  messenger  from  Jean  François  who  has 
brought  the  news  that  Bouckmann  has  been  killed  in  a 
battle  with  the  whites  under  M.  de  Touzard,  and  that 
his  head  has  been  set  upon  the  gates  of  the  town  as  a 
trophy.  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Biassou,  his  eyes  sparkling  with 
delight  at  learning  the  diminution  of  the  number  of  chiefs 
and  the  consequent  increase  of  his  own  importance. 

"  The  emissary  of  Jean  François  has  in  addition  a 
message  for  you.  " 

"  That  is  all  right,  "  replied  the  general  ;  •  but  get  rid 
of  this  air  of  alarm,  my  good  Bigaud.  " 

"  But,  "  said  Kigaud,  "  do  you  not  fear  the  effect  that 
the  death  of  Bouckmann  will  have  on  the  army  ?  " 

"  You  wish  to  appear  more  simple  than  you  are  ;  but 
you  shall  see  what  Biassou  will  do.  Keep  the  messen- 
ger back  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  all  will  go  well.  " 

Then  he  approached  the  Obi,  who  during  this  conver- 
sation had  been  exercising  his  functions  as  fortune-teller, 
questioning  the  wondering  negroes,  examining  the  lines 
on  their  hands  and  foreheads,  and  distributing  more  or 
less  good  luck  according  to  the  size  and  colour  of  the 
piece  of  money  thrown  by  each  negro  into  a  silver-gilt 
basin  which  stood  on  one  side.  Biassou  whispered  a 
few  words  in  his  ear,  and  without  making  any  reply  the 
Obi  continued  his  prophetic  observations. 

"  He,  "  cried  the  Obi,  "  who  has  in  the  middle  of  his 
forehead  a  little  square  or  triangular  figure  will  make  a 
large  fortune  without  work  or  toil.  The  figure  of  three 
interlaced  S's  on  the  forehead  is  a  fatal  sign  ;  he  who 
has  it  will  certainly  be  drowned  if  he  does  not  carefully 
avoid  water.  Four  lines  from  the  top  of  the  nose,  and 
turning  round  two  by  two  towards  the  eyes,  announces 
that  you  will  be  taken  prisoner,  and  for  a  long  time  lan- 
guish in  a  foreign  prison.  " 


102  BUG-JARGAL. 

Here  the  Obi  paused.  "  Friends,  "  continued  he,  u  1 
have  observed  this  sign  in  the  forehead  of  Bug-Jargal, 
the  brave  chief  of  Morne-Eouge.  " 

These  words,  which  convinced  me  that  Bug-Jargal 
had  been  made  prisoner,  were  followed  by  a  cry  of  grief 
from  a  band  of  negroes  who  wore  short  scarlet  breeches. 
They  belonged  to  the  band  of  Morne-Rouge. 

Then  the  Obi  began  again  :  "  If  you  have  on  the  right 
side  of  the  forehead  in  the  line  of  the  moon  a  mark  re- 
sembling a  fork,  do  not  remain  idle,  and  avoid  dissipa- 
tion of  all  kinds.  A  small  mark  like  the  Arabic  cipher 
3  in  the  line  of  the  sun  betokens  blows  with  a   stick.  " 

An  old  negro  here  interrupted  the  magician,  and 
dragging  himself  to  his  feet  begged  him  to  dress  his 
wound.  He  had  been  wounded  in  the  face,  and  one  of  his 
eyes  almost  torn  from  the  socket  hung  upon  his  cheek. 

The  Obi  had  forgotten  him  when  going  through 
his  patients.  Directly,  however,  he  saw  him  he  cried 
out  :  "  Round  marks  on  the  right  side  of  the  forehead  in 
the  line  of  the  moon  foretell  misfortunes  to  the  sight. 
My  man,  let  me  see  your  hand.  " 

"  Alas,  excellent  sir,  "  answered  the  other,  "  it  is  my 
eye  that  I  want  you  to  look  at.  " 

"  Old  man,  "  replied  the  Obi,  crossly,  "  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  see  your  eye  ;  give  me  your  hand,  I  say.  " 

The  miserable  wretch  obeyed,  moaning,  "  My  eye  ! 
my  eye  !  " 

"  Good,  "  cried  the  Obi  ;  "  if  you  see  on  the  line  of 
life  a  spot  surrounded  by  a  circle  you  wilMose  an  eye. 
There  is  the  mark.     You  will  become  blind  of  an  eye.  " 

"  I  am  so  already,  "  answered  the  negro,  piteously. 

But  the  Obi  had  merged  the  physician  in  the  sorcerer, 
and  thrusting  him  roughly  on  one  side  continued  :  "  Lis- 
ten, my  men.  If  the  seven  lines  on  the  forehead  are 
slight,   twisted,   and   lightly  marked,  they  announce  a 


BUG-JARGAL.  103 

short  life.  He  who  has  between  his  eyebrows  on  the 
line  of  the  moon  the  figure  of  two  crossed  arrows  will  be 
killed  in  battle.  If  the  line  of  life  which  intersects  the 
hand  has  a  cross  at  its  junction  it  foretells  death  on  the 
scaffold  ;  and  here  I  must  tell  you,  my  brethren,  "  said 
the  Obi,  interrupting  himself,  "  that  one  of  the  bravest 
defenders  of  our  liberties,  Bouckmann,  has  all  these 
fatal  marks.  " 

At  these  words  all  the  negroes  held  their  breath,  and 
gazed  on  the  impostor  with  glances  of  stupid  admiration. 

"  Only,  "  continued  the  Obi,  "  I  cannot  reconcile  the 
two  opposing  signs,  death  on  the  battle-field  and  also  on 
the  scaffold  ;  and  yet  my  science  is  infallible.  " 

He  stopped,  and  cast  a  meaning  glance  at  Biassou, 
who  whispered  something  to  an  officer,  who  at  once 
quitted  the  cavern. 

"  A  gaping  mouth,  "  continued  the  Obi,  turning  on  his 
audience  a  malicious  glance,  "  a  slouching  carriage,  and 
arms  hanging  down  by  the  side,  announces  natural  stu- 
pidity, emptiness,  and  want  of  reasoning  powers.  " 

Biassou  gave  a  sneer  of  delight  ;  at  that  moment  the 
aide-de-camp  returned,  bringing  with  him  a  negro  cov- 
ered with  mud  and  dust,  whose  feet,  wounded  by  the 
roots  and  flints,  showed  that  he  had  just  come  off  a  long 
journey.  This  was  the  messenger  whose  arrival  Eigaud 
had  announced.  He  held  in  one  hand  a  letter,  and  in 
the  other  a  document  sealed  with  the  design  of  a  flaming 
heart  ;  round  it  was  a  monogram,  composed  of  the  letters 
M  and  N  interlaced,  no  doubt  intended  as  an  emblem  of 
the  union  of  the  free  mulattoes  and  the  negro  slaves.  Un- 
derneath I  could  read  this  motto,  "  Prejudice  conquered  ; 
the  rod  of  iron  broken  ;  long  live  the  king  !  "  This  doc- 
ument was  a  safe  conduct  given  by  Jean  François. 

The  messenger  handed  his  letter  to  Biassou,  who  has- 
tily tore  it  open  and  perused  the  contents,  then  with  an 


104  BUG-JARGAL. 

appearance  of  deep  grief  he  exclaimed,  "  My  brothers  !  " 
All  bowed  respectfully. 

"  My  brothers,  this  is  a  dispatch  to  Jean  Biassou,  gen- 
eralissimo of  the  conquered  states,  Brigadier-General  of 
his  Catholic  Majesty,  from  Jean  François,  Grand  Ad- 
miral of  France,  Lieutenant-General  of  the  army  of  the 
King  of  Spain  and  the  Indies.  Bouckmann,  chief  of  the 
hundred  and  twenty  negroes  of  the  Blue  Mountain, 
whose  liberty  was  recognized  by  the  Governor-General 
of  Belle  Combe,  has  fallen  in  the  glorious  struggle 
of  liberty  and  humanity  against  tyranny  and  barbarism. 
This  gallant  chief  has  been  slain  in  an  action  with  the 
white  brigands  of  the  infamous  Touzard.  The  monsters 
have  cut  off  his  head,  and  have  announced  their  inten- 
tion of  exposing  it  on  a  scaffold  in  the  main  square  of 
the  town  of  Cap.      Vengeance  I  " 

A  gloomy  silence  succeeded  the  reading  of  this  dis- 
patch ;  but  the  Obi  leaped  on  his  altar,  and  waving  his 
white  wand,  exclaimed  in  accents  of  triumph,  — 

"  Solomon,  Zerobabel,  Eleazar  Thaleb,  Cardau,  Judas 
Bowtharicht,  Avenoes,  Albert  the  Great,  Bohabdil,  Jean 
de  Hagul,  Anna  Baratio,  Daniel  Ogromof,  Eachel  Flintz, 
Allornino,  —  I  give  you  thanks  !  The  science  of  the 
spirits  has  not  deceived  me.  Sons,  friends,  brothers, 
boys,  children,  mothers,  all  of  you  listen  to  me.  What 
was  it  that  I  predicted  ?  The  marks  on  the  forehead  of 
Bouckmann  announced  that  his  life  would  be  a  short 
one,  that  he  would  die  in  battle,  and  that  he  would  ap- 
pear on  the  scaffold.  The  revelations  of  my  art  have 
turned  out  true  to  the  letter,  and  those  points  which 
seemed  the  most  obscure  are  now  the  most  plain. 
Brethren,   wonder  and  admire  !  " 

The  panic  of  the  negroes  changed  during  this  dis- 
course to  a  sort  of  admiring  terror.  They  listened  to 
the  Obi  with  a  species  of  confidence  mingled  with  fear, 


BUG-JARGAL.  105 

while  the  latter,  carried  away  by  his  own  enthusiasm, 
walked  up  and  down  the  sugar-case,  which  presented 
plenty  of  space  for  his  short  steps. 

A  sneer  passed  over  Biassou's  face  as  he  addressed  the 
Obi  :  "  Your  reverence,  since  you  know  what  is  to  come, 
will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  the  future  of  Jeara 
Biassou,  Brigadier-General  ?  " 

The  Obi  halted  on  the  top  of  his  strange  altar,  which 
the  credulity  of  the  negroes  looked  upon  as  something 
divine,  and  answered,  "  Venga  vuestra  merced"  ("  Com^ 
your  Excellency").  At  this  moment  the  Obi  was  the 
most  important  man  in  the  army  ;  the  military  power 
\)owed  to  the  spiritual. 

"  Your  hand,  General,  "  said  the  Obi,  stooping  to  grasp 
it.  "  Empezo  "  ("  I  begin").  The  line  of  junction  equally 
marked  in  its  full  length  promises  you  riches  and  hap- 
piness ;  the  line  of  life  strongly  developed  announces  a 
life  exempt  from  ills,  and  a  happy  old  age.  Its  narrow- 
ness shows  >our  wisdom  and  your  superior  talents,  as 
well  as  the  generosity  of  your  heart;  and  lastly,  I  see 
what  chiromancers  call  the  luckiest  of  all  signs,  —  a 
number  of  little  wrinkles  in  the  shape  of  a  tree  with  its 
branches  extending  upwards  ;  this  promises  health  and 
wealth  ;  it  also  prognosticates  courage.  General,  it 
curves  in  the  direction  of  the  little  finger  ;  this  is  the 
sign  of  wholesome  severity.  " 

As  he  said  this,  the  eyes  of  the  Obi  glanced  at  me 
through  the  apertures  of  his  veil,  and  I  fancied  that  I 
could  catch  a  well-known  voice  under  the  habitual  grav- 
ity of  his  intonation,  as  he  continued,  — 

"  The  line  of  health,  marked  with  a  number  of  small 
circles,  announces  that  you  will  have,  for  the  sake  of  the 
cause,  to  order  a  number  of  executions  ;  divided  here  by 
a  half-moon,  it  shows  that  you  will  be  exposed  to  great 
danger  from  ferocious  beasts,  that  is  to  say  from  the 


106  BUG-JARGAL. 

whites,  if  you  do  not  exterminate  them.  The  line  of  for- 
tune surrounded,  like  the  line  of  life,  by  little  branches 
rising  towards  the  upper  part  of  the  hand,  confirms  the 
position  of  power  and  supremacy  to  which  you  have  been 
called  ;  turning  to  the  right,  it  is  a  symbol  of  your  ad- 
ministrative capacity.  The  fifth  line,  that  of  the  trian- 
gle prolonged  to  the  root  of  the  middle  finger,  promises 
you  success  in  all  your  undertakings.  Let  me  see  your 
fingers  :  the  thumb  marked  with  little  lines  from  the 
point  to  the  nail  shows  that  you  will  receive  a  noble 
heritage,  —  that  of  the  glory  of  the  unfortunate  Bouck- 
mann,  no  doubt,  "  added  the  Obi,  in  &  loud  voice.  "  The 
slight  swelling  at  the  root  of  the  forefinger,  lightly 
marked  with  lines,  promises  honours  and  dignities. 
The  middle  finger  shows  nothing.  Your  little  finger  is 
covered  with  lines  crossing  one  another  ;  you  will  van- 
quish all  your  enemies,  and  rise  high  above  your  rivals. 
These  lines  form  the  cross  of  Saint  Andrew,  a  mark  of 
genius  and  foresight.  I  also  notice  the  figure  of  a  circle, 
another  token  of  your  arrival  at  the  highest  power  and 
dignity.  '  Happy  the  man,  '  says  Eleazar  Thaleb,  '  who 
possesses  all  these  signs.  Destiny  has  its  choicest  gifts 
in  store  for  him,  and  his  fortunate  star  announces  the 
talent  which  will  bring  him  glory.  '  And  now,  General, 
let  me  look  at  your  forehead.  '  He,  '  says  Bachel  Flintz, 
of  Bohemia,  '  who  bears  on  his  forehead,  on  the  line  of 
the  sun,  a  square  or  a  triangular  mark,  will  make  a  great 
fortune.  '  Here  is  another  prediction  :  '  If  the  mark  is 
on  the  right,  it  refers  to  an  important  succession  ;  '  that 
of  Bouckmann  is,  of  course,  again  referred  to.  The 
mark  in  the  shape  of  a  horseshoe  between  the  eyebrows, 
on  the  line  of  the  moon,  means  that  prompt  vengeance 
will  be  taken  for  insult  and  tyranny.  I  have  this  mark 
as  well  as  you.  " 

The    curious    manner    in    which     the    Obi    uttered 


BUG-JARGAL.  107 

these  words,  "  I  have  this  mark, w  attracted  my  at- 
tention. 

"  The  mark  of  a  lion's  claw  which  you  have  on  youi 
left  eyelid  is  only  noticeable  among  men  of  undoubted 
courage.  But  to  close  this,  General  Jean  Biassou,  your 
forehead  shows  every  sign  of  the  most  unexampled  suc- 
cess, and  on  it  is  a  combination  of  lines  which  form  the 
letter  M,  the  commencement  of  the  name  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  In  whatever  part  of  the  forehead,  and  in  what- 
ever line  of  the  face,  such  a  sign  appears,  the  significa- 
tion is  the  same,  —  genius,  glory,  and  power.  He  who 
bears  it  will  always  bring  success  to  whatever  cause  he 
embraces,  and  those  under  his  command  will  never  have 
to  regret  any  loss.  He  alone  is  worth  all  the  soldiers 
of  his*  army.      You,   General,   are  the  elect  of  Fate.  " 

"  Thanks,  your  reverence,  "  said  Biassou,  preparing  to 
return  to  his  mahogany  throne. 

"  Stay  a  moment,  General,  "  said  the  Obi,  "  I  forgot 
one  last  sign  :  The  line  of  the  sun,  which  is  so  strongly 
marked  on  your  forehead,  proves  that  you  understand 
the  way  of  the  world;  that  you  possess  the  wish  to  make 
others  happy  ;  that  you  have  much  liberality,  and  like 
to  do  things  in  a  magnificent  manner.  " 

Biassou  at  once  recognized  his  forgetfulness,  and  draw- 
ing from  his  pocket  a  heavy  purse,  he  threw  it  into  the 
plate,  so  as  to  prove  that  the  line  of  the  sun  never  lies. 

But  this  miraculous  horoscope  of  the  general  had  pro- 
duced its  effect  upon  the  army.  All  the  insurgents, 
who  since  the  news  of  the  death  of  Bouckmann  attached 
greater  weight  than  ever  to  the  words  of  the  Obi,  .lost 
their  feelings  of  uneasiness  and  became  violently  enthu- 
siastic ;  and  trusting  blindly  in  their  infallible  sorcerer 
and  their  predestined  chief,  they  began  to  shout,  "  Long 
live  our  Obi  <  long  live  our  general  !  " 

The   Obi   and  Biassou  glanced  at  each  other;  and  1 


108  BUG-JARGAL. 

almost  thought  I  could  hear  the  stifled  laugh  of  the  one 
replied  to  by  the  sardonic  chuckle  of  the  other.  I  do 
not  know  how  it  was,  but  this  Obi  tormented  me  dread- 
fully ;  I  had  a  feeling  that  I  had  seen  or  heard  him  be- 
fore,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  speak  to  him. 

*  Ho,  Obi,  your  reverence,  doctor,  here  !  "  cried  I  to 
him.  He  turned  sharply  round.  "  There  is  some  one 
here  whose  lot  you  have  not  yet  cast,  —  it  is  mine.  " 

He  crossed  his  arms  over  the  silver  sun  that  covered 
his  hairy  breast,  but  he  made  no  reply. 

I  continued  :  "  I  would  gladly  know  what  you  proph- 
esy with  regard  to  my  future,  but  your  worthy  comrades 
have  taken  my  watch  and  my  purse,  and  I  suppose  you 
will  not  give  me  a  specimen  of  your  skill  for  nothing.  " 

He  advanced  quickly  to  me,  and  muttered  hoarsely  in 
my  ear.    "  You  deceive  yourself  ;  let  me  see  your  hand.  " 

I  gave  it,  looking  fixedly  at  him;  his  eyes  sparkled  as 
he  bent  over  my  hand. 

"  If  the  line  of  life,  "  said  he,  "  is  cut  by  two  trans- 
verse lines,  it  is  the  sign  of  immediate  death  :  your  life 
will  be  a  short  one.  If  the  line  of  health  is  not  in  the 
centre  of  the  hand,  and  if  the  line  of  life  and  the  line 
of  fortune  are  united  so  as  to  form  an  angle,  a  natural 
death  cannot  be  looked  for  ;  do  not  therefore,  look  for  a 
natural  death  !  If  the  bottom  of  the  forefinger  has  a  long 
line  cutting  it,  a  violent  death  will  be  the  result  ;  pre- 
pare yourself  for  a  violent  death  !  " 

There  was  a  ring  of  pleasure  in  his  sepulchral  voice  as 
he  thus  announced  my  death,  but  I  listened  to  him  with 
contempt  and  indifference. 

"  Sorcerer,"  said  I,  with  a  disdainful  smile,"  you  are 
skilful,  for  you  are  speaking  of  a  certainty,  w 

Once  more  he  came  closer  to  me.  "  You  doubt  my 
science, n  cried  he  ;  "  listen,  then,  once  more.  The  sev- 
erance of  the  line  of  the  sun  on  your  forehead  shows  me 


BUG-JARGAL.  109 

that  you  take  an  enemy  for  a  friend,  and  a  friend  for  an 

enemy.  " 

These  words  seemed  to  refer  to  the  treacherous  Pierrot 
whom  I  loved,  but  who  had  betrayed  me,  and  to  the 
faithful  Habibrah  whom  I  had  hated,  and  whose  blood- 
stained garments  attested  his  fidelity  and  his  devotion. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  *  exclaimed  I. 

"  Listen  until  the  end, "  continued  the  Obi.  "  I  spoke 
of  the  future  ;  listen  to  the  past.  The  line  of  the  moon 
on  your  forehead  is  slightly  curved  ;  that  signifies  that 
your  wife  has  been  carried  off.  " 

I  trembled,  and  endeavoured  to  spring  from  my  seat, 
but  my  guards  held  me  back. 

"  You  have  but  little  patience,  "  continued  the  sor- 
cerer ;  "  listen  to  the  end.  The  little  cross  that  cuts  the 
extremity  of  that  curve  shows  me  all  :  your  wife  was 
carried  off  on  the  very  night  of  your  nuptials.  n 

"  Wretch  S  "  cried  I,  "  you  know  where  she  is  !  Who 
are  you  ?  " 

I  strove  again  to  free  myself,  and  to  tear  away  his 
veil;  but  I  had  to  yield  to  numbers  and  to  force,  and 
had  the  mortification  of  seeing  the  mysterious  Obi  move 
away  repeating,  "  Do  you  believe  me  now  ?  Prepare  foi 
immediate  death.  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX, 

AS  if  to  draw  my  attention  from  the  perplexity  into 
which  I  had  been  thrown  by  the  strange  scene 
that  had  just  passed,  a  new  and  more  terrible  drama 
succeeded  to  the  farce  that  had  been  played  between 
Biassou  and  the  Obi.  Biassou  had  again  taken  his 
place  upon  his  mahogany  throne,  while  Rigaud  and  the 
Obi  were  seated  on  his  right  and  left  ;  the  latter,  with 
his  arms  crossed  on  his  breast,  seemed  to  have  given 
himself  up  to  deep  thought.  Biassou  and  Rigaud  were 
chewing  tobacco,  and  an  aide-de-camp  had  just  asked  if 
he  should  order  a  general  march  past  of  the  forces,  when 
a  tumultuous  crowd  of  negroes,  with  hideous  shouts, 
arrived  at  the  entranee  of  the  grotto.  They  had  brought 
with  them  three  white  prisoners  to  be  judged  by  Biassou, 
but  what  they  desired  was  easily  shown  by  thé  cries  of 
*  Muerte  !  Muerte  !  "  ("  Death,  death  1  ")  the  latter,  no 
doubt,  emanating  from  the  English  negroes  of  Bouck- 
mann's  band,  many  of  whom  had  by  this  time  arrived 
to  join  the  French  and  Spanish  negroes  of  Biassou. 

The  general  with  a  gesture  of  his  hand  commanded 
silence,  and  ordered  the  three  captives  to  be  brought  to 
the  entrance  of  the  grotto.  I  recognized  two  of  them 
with  considerable  surprise  ;  one  was  .the  Citizen  General 

C ,  that  philanthropist  who  was.  in  correspondence 

with  all  the  lovers  of  the  negro  race  in  different  parts  of 
the  globe,  and  who  had  proposed  so  cruel  a  mode  of  sup- 
pressing the   insurrection  to  the  governor.     The  other 


BUG-JARGAL.  Ill 

was  the  planter  of  doubtful  origin,  who  manifested  so 
great  a  dislike  to  the  mulattoes,  among  whom  the  whites 
insisted  on  classing  him.  The  third  appeared  to  belong 
to  a  section  called  "  poor  whites,  "  —  that  is  to  say, 
white  men  who  had  to  work  for  their  living  ;  he  wore  a 
leathern  apron,  and  his  sleeves  were  turned  up  to  his 
elbows.  All  the  prisoners  had  been  taken  at  different 
times,  endeavouring  to  hide  themselves  in  the  mountains. 

The  "  poor  white  "  was  the  first  one  that  was  questioned. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Biassou. 

"  I  am  Jacques  Belin,  carpenter  to  the  Hospital  of  the 
Fathers,  at  Cap.  " 

Surprise  and  shame  struggled  for  the  mastery  in  the 
features  of  the  general.  "  Jacques  Belin  !  "  repeated  he, 
biting  his  lips. 

"  Yes,  "  replied  the  carpenter  ;•  "  do  you  not  recognize 
me?" 

"  Begin,  "  retorted  the  general,  furiously,  "  by  recog- 
nizing me  and  saluting  me.  " 

"  I  do  not  salute  my  slave,  "  replied  the  carpenter, 
sturdily. 

"  Your  slave,  wretch  !  "  cried  the  general. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  carpenter;  "  yes,  I  was  your  first 
master.  You  pretend  not  to  recognize  me,  but  remem- 
ber, Jean  Biassou,  that  I  sold  you  for  thirty  piastres  in 
the  St.  Domingo  slave-market.  " 

An  expression  of  concentrated  rage  passed  over  Bias- 
sou's  face. 

"  Well,  "  continued  the  carpenter,  "  you  appear  ashamed 
of  having  worked  for  me  ;  ought  not  Jean  Biassou  to  feel 
proud  of  having  belonged  to  Jacques  Belin?  Your 
mother,  the  old  idiot,  has  often  swept  out  my  shop  ;  but 
at  last  I  sold  her  to  the  major  domo  of  the  Hospital  of 
the  Fathers,  and  she  was  so  old  and  decrepit  that  he 
would  give  me  only  thirty-two  livres  and  six  sous  for 


112  BUG-JARGAL. 

her.  There  is  my  history  and  yours  ;  but  it  seems  as  if 
the  negroes  and  the  mulattoes  are  growing  proud,  and 
that  you  have  forgotten  the  time  when  you  served  Mas- 
ter Jacques  Belin,  the  carpenter  of  Cap,  on  your  knees.  " 

Biassou  listened  to  him  with  that  sardonic  smile 
which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  tiger. 

"  Good  !  "  said  he.  Then  turning  to  the  negroes  who 
had  captured  Belin,  "  Get  two  trestles,  two  planks,  and 
a  saw,  and  take  this  man  away.  Jacques  Belin,  carpen- 
ter of  Cap,  thank  me,  for  you  shall  have  a  true  carpen- 
ter's death.  * 

His  sardonic  laugh  too  fully  explained  the  horrible 
punishment  that  he  destined  for  the  pride  of  his  former 
master;  but  Jacques  Belin  did  not  blench,  and  turning 
proudly  to  Biassou,  cried,  — 

"  Yes,  I  ought  to  thank  you,  for  I  bought  you  for 
thirty  piastres,  and  I  got  work  out  of  you  to  a  much 
greater  amount.  " 

They  dragged  him  away. 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

MOEE  dead  than  alive,  the  other  two  prisoners  had 
witnessed  this  frightful  prologue  to  their  own 
fate.  Their  timid  and  terrified  appearance  contrasted 
with  the  courageous  audacity  of  the  carpenter;  every 
limb  quivered  with  affright. 

Biassou  looked  at  them  one  after  the  other  with  his 
fox-like  glance,  and,  as  if  he  took  a  pleasure  in  prolong- 
ing their  agony,  began  a  discussion  with  Eigaud  upon 
the  different  kinds  of  tobacco,  —  asserting  that  that  of 
Havana  was  only  good  for  manufacturing  cigars,  while 
for  snuff  he  knew  nothing  better  than  the  Spanish  to- 
bacco, two  barrels  of  which  Bouckmann  had  sent  him, 
being  a  portion  of  the  plunder  of  M.  Lebattre's  stores 
in  the  island  of  Tortue.  Then,  turning  sharply  upon 
the  Citizen  General  C ,  he  asked  him, — 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

This  sudden  address  utterly  confounded  the  timid 
citizen,  and  he  stammered  out,  "  General,  I  am  entirely 
of  your  Excellency's  opinion." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  replied  Biassou  ;  "  I  want  your  opin- 
ion, not  mine.  Do  you  know  any  tobacco  that  makes 
better  snuff  than  that  of  M.  Lebattres  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord,"  answered  C ,  whose  evident  terror 

greatly  amused  Biassou. 

"' General/  'your  Excellency/  'my  lord!'  you  are 
an  aristocrat." 

"Oh,  no,  certainly  not,"  exclaimed  the  citizen  gen- 
eral. "I  am  a  good  patriot  of  '91,  and  an  ardent 
negrophile." 


114  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  '  Negrophile  '  !  "  interrupted  trie  general  ;  "  pray,  what 
is  a  '  negrophile  '  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  friend  of  the  blacks,  "  stammered  the  citizen. 

"  It  is  not  enough  to  be  a  friend  of  the  blacks  ;  you 
must  also  be  a  friend  of  the  men  of  colour.  " 

"  Men  of  colour  is  what  I  should  have  said,  "  replied 
the  lover  of  the  blacks,  humbly.  "  I  am  mixed  up  with 
all  the  most  famous  partisans  of  the  negroes  and  the 
mulattoes  —  " 

Delighted  at  the  opportunity  of  humiliating  a  white 
man,  Biassou  again  interrupted  him  :  "  '  Negroes  and 
mulattoes  '  !  What  do  you  mean,  pray  ?  Do  you  wish 
to  insult  me  by  making  use  of  those  terms  of  contempt 
invented  by  the  whites  ?  There  are  only  men  of  colour 
and  blacks  here, —  do  you  understand  that,  Mr.  Planter  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  slip,  a  bad  habit  that  I  picked  up  in  child- 
hood, "  answered  C .      "  Pardon  me,  my  lord,  I  had 

no  wish  to  offend  you.  " 

"  Leave  off  this  my  lording  business  !  I  have  already 
told  you  that  I  don't  like  these  aristocratic  ways.  " 

C again  endeavoured  to  excuse  himself,  and  be- 
gan to  stammer  out  a  fresh  explanation.  *  If  you  knew, 
citizen  —  " 

"Citizen,  indeed!"  cried  Biassou,  in  affected  anger; 
;t  I  detest  all  this  Jacobin  jargon.  Are  you  by  chance 
a  Jacobin  ?  Remember  that  you  are  speaking  to  the 
generalissimo  of  the  king's  troops.  " 

The  unhappy  partisan  of  the  negro  race  was  dumb- 
founded, and  did  not  know  in  what  terms  to  address 
this  man,  who  equally  disdained  the  titles  of  *  my  lord  " 
or  "  citizen,  "  —  the  aristocratic  or  republican  modes  of 
salutation.  Biassou,  whose  anger  was  only  assumed, 
cruelly  enjoyed  the  predicament  in  which  he  had  placed 
C -. 

"  Alas,  "  at  last  said  the  citizen  general,  "  you  do  not 


BUG-JARGAL.  115 

do  me  justice,  noble  defender  of  the  unwritten  rights  of 
the  larger  portion  of  the  human  race  !  " 

In  his  perplexity  to  hit  upon  an  acceptable  mode  of 
address  to  a  man  who  appeared  to  disdain  all  titles,  he 
had  recourse  to  one  of  those  sonorous  periphrases  which 
the  republicans  occasionally  substituted  for  the  name 
and  title  of  the  persons  with  whom  they  were  in 
conversation. 

Biassou  looked  at  him  steadily  and  said,  "  You  love 
the  blacks  and  the  men  of  colour  ?  " 

"  Do    I   love  -  them  ?  "    exclaimed  the  citizen  C . 

"  Why,  I  correspond  with  Brissot  and  —  " 

Biassou  interrupted  him  with  a  sardonic  laugh.  "  Ha, 
ha  !  I  am  glad  to  find  in  you  so  trusty  a  friend  to  our 
cause;  you  must,  of  course,  thoroughly  detest  those 
wretched  colonists  who  punished  our  insurrection  by  a 
series  of  the  most  cruel  executions  ;  and  you,  of  course 
think  with  us  that  it  is  not  the  blacks,  but  the  whites, 
who  are  the  true  rebels,  since  they  are  in  arms  against 
the  laws  of  nature  and  humanity  ?  You  must  execrate 
such  monsters  !  " 

"  I  do  execrate  them,  "  answered  C . 

"  Well,  "  continued  Biassou,  "  what  do  you  think  of  a 
man  who,  in  his  endeavours  to  crush  the  last  efforts  of 
the  slaves  to  regain  their  liberty,  placed  the  heads  of 
fifty  black  men  on  each  side  of  the  avenue  that  led  to 
his  house  ?  " 

C grew  fearfully  pale. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  a  white  man  who  would  pro- 
pose to  surround  the  town  of  Cap  with  a  circle  of  negro 
heads  ?  " 

"  Mercy,  mercy  !  "  cried  the  terrified  citizen  general. 

*  Am  I  threatening  you  ?  "  replied  Biassou,  coldly. 
*  Let  me  finish,  —  a  circle  of  heads  that  would  reach 
from  Fort  Picolet  to  Cape  Caracol.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?    Answer  me!" 


116  BUG-JARGAL. 

The  words  of  Biassou,  *  Do  I  threaten  you."  had  given 

a  faint  ray  of  hope  to  C ,  for  he  fancied  that  the 

general  might  have  heard  of  this  terrible  proposition 
without  knowing  the  author  of  it  ;  he  therefore  replied 
with  all  the  firmness  that  he  could  muster,  in  order  to 
remove  any  impression  that  the  idea  was  his  own  :  — 

"  I  consider  such  a  suggestion  an  atrocious  crime.  " 

Biassou  chuckled.  "  Good  !  And  what  punishment 
should  be  inflicted  on  the  man  who  proposed  it  ?  " 

The  unfortunate  C hesitated. 

"  What!  "  cried  Biassou,  "  you  hesitate!  Are  you,  or 
are  you  not,  the  friend  of  the  blacks  ?  " 

Of  the  two  alternatives  the  wretched  man  chose  the 
least  threatening  one,  and  seeing  no  hostile  light  in 
Biassou 's  eyes,  he  answered  in  a  low  voice:  "The 
guilty  person  deserves  death.  " 

"  Well  answered,  "  replied  Biassou,  calmly,  throwing 
aside  the  tobacco  that  he  had  been  chewing.  His  as- 
sumed air  of  indifference  had  completely  deceived  the 
unfortunate  lover  of  the  negro  race,  and  he  made  another 
effort  to  dissipate  any  suspicions  which  might  have  been 
engendered  against  him. 

"  No    one,  "  cried  C ,   "  has  a  more  ardent  desire 

for  your  success  than  I.  I  correspond  with  Brissot  and 
Pruneau  de  Pomme-Gouge  in  France,  with  Magaw  in 
America,  with  Peter  Paulus  in  Holland,  with  the  Abbé 
Tamburini  in  Italy, —  "  and  he  was  continuing  to  unfold 
the  same  string  of  names  which  he  had  formerly  re- 
peated, but  with  a  different  motive,  at  the  council  held 
at  M.  de  Blanchelande's,  when  Biassou  interrupted  him. 

"  What  do  I  care  with  whom  you  correspond  ?  Tell 
me  rather  where  are  your  granaries  and  store-houses,  for 
my  army  has  need  of  supplies.  Your  plantation  is 
doubtless  a  rich  one,  and  your  business  must  be  lucra- 
tive since  you  correspond  with  so  many  merchants.  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  117 

C ventured  timidly  to  remark  :  "  Hero  of  human- 
ity, they  are  not  merchants,  but  philosophers,  philan- 
thropists,  lovers  of  the  race  of  blacks.  " 

"  Then,  "  said  Biassou,  with  a  shake  of  his  head,  "  if 
you  have  nothing  that  can  be  plundered,  what  good  are 

you?" 

This   question  afforded  a  chance  of  safety  of  which 

G eagerly  availed  himself.      "  Illustrious  warrior,  " 

exclaimed    he,     "  have    you     an     economist    in    your 

army  ?  " 

'   "  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  general. 

"  It  is,  "  replied  the  prisoner,  with  as  much  calmness 
as  his  fears  would  permit  him  to  assume,  "  a  most  ne- 
cessary man, — -one  whom  all  appreciate,  one  who  fol- 
lows out  and  classes  in  their  proper  order  the  respective 
material  resources  of  an  empire,  and  gives  to  each  its 
real  value,  increasing  and  improving  them  by  combin- 
ing their  sources  and  results,  and  pouring  them  like 
fertilizing  streams  into  the  main  river  of  general  util- 
ity, which  in  its  turn  swells  the  great  sea  of  public 
prosperity.  " 

"  Caramba  !  "  observed  Biassou,  leaning  over  towards 
the  Obi.  "  What  the  deuce  does  he  mean  by  all  these 
words  strung  together  like  the  beads  on  your  rosary  ?  " 

The  Obi  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  sign  of  ignorance 
and  disdain,  as  citizen  C continued  :  — 

■  If  you  will  permit  me  to  observe,  valiant  chief  of  the 
regenerators  of  St.  Domingo,  I  have  carefully  studied  the 
works  of  the  greatest  economists  of  the  world, —  Turgot, 
Eaynal,  and  Mirabeau  the  friend  of  man.  I  have  put 
their  theories  into  practice  ;  I  thoroughly  understand 
the  science  indispensable  for  the  government  of  king- 
doms and  states  —  " 

"  The  economist  is  not  economical  of  his  words^  "  ob- 
served Kigaud,  with  his  bland  and  cunning  smile. 


118  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  But  you,  eternal  talker,  "  cried  Biassou,  *  tell  me, 
have  I  any  kingdoms  or  states  to  govern  ?  " 

"  Not  yet  perhaps,  great  man,  but  they  will  come  ; 
and  besides,  my  knowledge  descends  to  all  the  useful 
details  which  are  comprised  in  the  interior  economy  of 
an  army.  " 

The  general  again  interrupted  him  :  *  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  interior  economy  of  the  army  ;  I  com- 
mand it.  " 

"  Good  !  "  replied  the  citizen  ;  "  you  shall  bë  the  com- 
mander, I  will  be  the  commissary.  I  have  much  special 
knowledge  as  to  the  increase  of  cattle  —  " 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  going  to  breed  cattle  ?  "  cried 
Biassou,  with  his  sardonic  laugh.  "  No,  my  good  fel- 
low, we  are  content  with  eating  them.  When  cattle 
become  scarce  in  the  French  colony  I  shall  cross  the 
line  of  mountains  on  the  frontier  and  take  the  Spanish 
sheep  and  oxen  from  the  plains  of  Cotury,  of  La  Vega, 
of  St.  Jago,  and  from  the  banks  of  the  Yuna  ;  if  neces- 
sary I  will  go  as  far  as  the  Island  of  Jamaica,  and  to 
the  back  of  the  mountain  of  Cibos,  and  from  the  mouths  of 
the  Neybe  to  those  of  Santo  Domingo  ;  besides,  I  should 
be  glad  to  punish  those  infernal  Spanish  planters  for 
giving  up  Ogé  to  the  French.  You  see  I  am  not  uneasy 
as  regards  provisions,  and  so  have  no  need  of  your 
knowledge.  " 

This  open  declaration  rather  disconcerted  the  poor 
economist  ;  he  made,  however,  one  more  effort  for  safety. 
"  My  studies,  "  said  he,  "  have  not  been  limited  to  the 
reproduction  of  cattle  ;  I  am  acquainted  with  other  spe- 
cial branches  of  knowledge  that  may  be  very  useful  to 
you.  I  can  show  you  the  method  of  manufacturing 
pitch  and  working  coal  mines.  " 

"  What  do  I  care  for  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Biassou. 
"  When  I  want  charcoal  I  burn  a  few  leagues  of  forest.  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  119 

"  I  can  tell  you  the  proper  kinds  of  wood  to  use 
for  shipbuilding,  —  the  chicarm  and  the  sabieca  for 
the  keels  ;  the  yabas  for  the  knees,  the  medlars  for  the 
framework,  the  hacomas,  the  gaïacs,  the  cedars,  the 
acomas  —  " 

"  Que  te  lleven  todos  los  demonios  de  los  diez-y-siete 
infernos  Î  "  ("  May  the  devils  of  the  thirty-seven  hells 
fly  away  with  you!  ")  cried  Biassou,  boiling  over  with 
impatience. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  gracious  patron,  "  said  the 
trembling  economist,  who  did  not  understand  Spanish. 

"  Listen,  "  said  Biassou.  "  I  don't  want  to  build  ves- 
sels ;  there  is  only  one  vacancy  that  I  can  offer  you,  and 
that  is  not  a  very  important  one.  I  want  a  man  to  wait 
upon  me  ;  and  now,  Mr.  Philosopher,  tell  me  if  that 
will  suit  you.  You  will  have  to  serve  me  on  your 
bended  knees;  you  will  prepare  my  pipe,  cook  my 
calalou  and  turtle  soup,  and  you  will  stand  behind  me 
with  a  fan  of  peacock  or  parrot  feathers  like  those  two 
pages.     Now,  will  the  situation  suit  you  ?  " 

Citizen  C ,  whose  only  desire  was  to  save  his  life, 

bent  to  the  earth  with  a  thousand  expressions  of  joy  and 
gratitude. 

"  You  accept  my  offer,  then  ?  "  asked  Biassou. 

"  Can  you  ask  such  a  question,  generous  master  ?  Do 
you  think  that  I  should  hesitate  for  a  moment  in  accept- 
ing so  distinguished  a  post  as  that  of  being  in  constant 
attendance  on  you  ?  " 

At  this  reply  the  diabolical  sneer  of  Biassou  became 
more  pronounced.  He  rose  up  with  an  air  of  triumph, 
crossed  his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  thrusting  aside  with 
his  foot  the  white  man's  head  who  was  prostrate  on  the 
ground  before  him,  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  I  am  delighted  at  being  able  to  fathom  how  far  the 
cowardice   of   the  white  man  could  go;  I  had  already 


1 20  BUG-JARGAL. 

measured  the  extent  of  his  cruelty.     Citizen  C ,  it 

is  to  you  that  I  owe  this  double  experience.  I  knew 
all  ;  how  could  you  have  been  sufficiently  besotted  to 
think  that  I  did  not  ?  It  was  you  who  presided  at  the 
executions  of  June,  July,  and  August  ;  it  was  you  who 
placed  fifty  negro  heads  on  each  side  of  your  avenue; 
it  was  you  who  proposed  to  slaughter  the  five  hundred 
aegroes  who  were  confined  in  irons  after  the  revolt,  and 
to  encircle  the  town  of  Cap  with  their  heads  from  Fort 
Picolet  to  Cape  Caracol.  If  you  could  have  done  it,  you 
would  have  placed  my  head  among  them  ;  and  now  you 
think  yourself  lucky  if  I  will  take  you  as  my  body-servant. 
No,  no,  I  have  more  regard  for  your  honour  than  you 
yourself  have,  and  I  will  not  inflict  this  affront  on  you  ; 
prepare  to  die  !  " 

"  At  a  gesture  of  Biassou's  hand  the  negroes  removed 
the  unhappy  lover  of  the  blacks  to  a  position  near  me, 
where,  overwhelmed  by  the  honour  of  his  position,  he 
fell  to  the  ground  without  being  able  to  articulate  a 
word. 


CHAPTEK  XXXI 

"  TT  is  your  turn  now,  "  said  the  general,  turning  to  the 
J-  last  of  the  prisoners, —  the  planter  who  was  accused 
by  the  white  men  of  having  black  blood  in  his  veins, 
and  who  had  on  that  account  sent  me  a  challenge. 

A  general  clamour  drowned  the  reply  of  the  planter. 
*  Muerte  !  Mort  !  Touyé  !  "  cried  the  negroes,  grinding 
their  teeth,  and  shaking  their  fists  at  the  unhappy 
captive. 

"  General,  "  said  a  mulatto,  making  himself  heard 
above  the  uproar,  "  he   is  a  white  man,  and  he  must  die.  " 

The  miserable  planter,  by  cries  and  gesticulations, 
managed  to  edge  in  some  words.  "  No,  general  !  no,  my 
brothers  !  it  is  an  infamous  calumny.  I  am  a  mulatto 
like  yourselves,  of  mixed  blood  ;  my  mother  was  a  ne- 
gress,  like  your  mothers  and  sisters.  " 

"  He  lies  !  "  cried  the  infuriated  negroes  ;  "  he  is  a 
white  man  ;  he  has  always  detested  the  coloured 
people.  " 

"Never!"  retorted  the  prisoner;  "it  is  the  whites 
that  I  detest.  I  have  always  said  with  you,  '  Nègre  ce 
blan  ;  blan  ce  negre  '  ('  The  negroes  are  the  masters  ;  the 
whites  are  the  slaves  ').  " 

"  Not  at  all  !  "  cried  the  crowd,  "  not  at  all  !  Kill  the 
white  man,  kill  him!  " 

Still  the  unhappy  wretch  kept  repeating  in  heart- 
rending accents,  "  I  am  a  mulatto,  I  am  one  of  your- 
selves. " 

"  Give  me  a  proof,"  was  Biassou's  sole  reply. 


122  BUG-JARGAL. 

*  A  proof  ?  "  answered  the  prisoner,  wildly  ;  "  the  proot 
is  that  the  whites  have  always  despised  me.  " 

"  That  may  be  true,  "  returned  Biassou,  "  but  you  are 
an  insolent  hound  to  tell  us  so." 

A  young  mulatto  stepped  to  the  front  and  addressed 
the  planter  in  an  excited  manner.  "  That  the  whites 
despised  you  is  a  fact;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
affected  to  look  down  upon  the  mulattoes  among  whom 
they  classed  you.  It  has  even  been  reported  that  you 
once  challenged  a  white  man  who  called  you  a  half- 
caste.  " 

A  howl  of  execration  arose  from  the  crowd,  and  the 
cry  of  "  death  "  was  repeated  more  loudly  than  ever  ; 
while  the  planter,  casting  an  appealing  glance  at  me, 
continued,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  — 

"  It  is  a  calumny  ;  my  greatest  glory  and  happiness  is 
in  belonging  to  the  blacks.      I  am  a  mulatto.  " 

"  If  you  really  were  a  mulatto,  "  observed  Eigaud, 
quietly,  "  you  would  not  make  use  of  such  an  expression.  " 

"  How  do  I  know  what  I  am  saying  ?  "  asked  the 
panic-stricken  wretch.  ""  General,  the  proof  that  I  am  of 
mixed  blood  is  in  the  black  circle  that  you  see  round 
the  bottom  of  my  nails.  " 

Biassou  thrust  aside  the  suppliant  hand.  "  I  do  not 
possess  the  knowledge  of  our  chaplain,  who  can  tell 
what  a  man  is  by  looking  at  his  hand.  But  listen  to 
me:  my  soldiers  accuse  you  —  some,  of  being  a  white 
man  ;  others,  of  being  a  false  brother.  If  this  is  the 
case  you  ought  to  die.  You,  on  the  other  hand,  assert 
that  you  belong  to  our  race,  and  that  you  have  never 
denied  it.  There  is  one  method  by  which  you  can  prove 
your  assertion.  Take  this  dagger  and  stab  these  two 
white  prisoners  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  Biassou  desig- 
nated the  citizen  C and  myself. 


BUG-JARGAL.  123 

The  planter  drew  back  from  the  dagger  which,  with 
a  devilish  smile  on  his  face,  Biassou  presented  to  him. 

"  What  !  "  said  the  general,  "  do  you  hesitate  ?  It  is 
your  only  chance  of  proving  your  assertion  to  the  army 
that  you  are  not  a  white,  and  are  one  of  ourselves. 
Come,  decide  at  once,   for  we  have  no  time  to  lose.  " 

The  prisoner's  eyes  glared  wildly  ;  he  stretched  out 
his  hand  towards  the  dagger,  then  let  his  arm  fall  again, 
turning  away  his  head,  while  every  limb  quivered  with 
emotion. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  cried  Biassou,  in  tones  of  impatience 
and  anger,  "  I  am  in  a  hurry.  Choose  :  either  kill 
them,   or  die  with  them  !  " 

The  planter  remained  motionless,  as  if  he  had  been 
turned  to  stone. 

"  Good  !  "  said  Biassou,  turning  towards  the  negroes  ; 
"  he  does  not  wish  to  be  the  executioner,  let  him  be  the 
victim.  I  can  see  that  he  is  nothing  but  a  white  man  ; 
away  with  him  !  " 

The  negroes  advanced  to  seize  him.  This  movement 
impelled  him  to  immediate  choice  between  giving  or 
receiving  death.  Extreme  cowardice  produces  a  bastard 
species  of  courage.  Stepping  forward,  he  snatched  the 
dagger  that  Biassou  still  held  out  to  him,  and  without 
giving  himself  time  to  reflect  upon  what  he  was  about 
to  do,  he  precipitated  himself  like  a  tiger  upon  citizen 

C ,  who  was  lying  on  the  ground  near  me.      Then  a 

terrible  struggle  commenced.  The  lover  of  the  negro 
race,  who  had  at  the  conclusion  of  his  interview  with 
Biassou  remained  plunged  in  a  state  of  despair  and  stu- 
por, had  hardly  noticed  the  scene  between  the  general 
and  the  planter,  so  absorbed  was  he  in  the  thought  of 
his  approaching  death  ;  but  when  he  saw  the  man  rush 
upon  him,  and  the  steel  gleam  above  his  head,  the  im- 
minence of  his  danger  aroused  him  at  once.     He  started 


124  BUG-JARGAL. 

to  his  feet,  grasped  trie  arm  of  his  would-be  murderer, 
and  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  terror, — 

"  Pardon,  pardon  !  What  are  you  doing  ?  What  have 
I  done  ?  " 

"  You  must  die,  sir,  "  said  the  half-caste,  fixing  his 
frenzied  eyes  upon  his  victim,  and  endeavouring  to  dis- 
engage his  arm.      "  Let  me  do  it  ;  J  will  not  hurt  you.  " 

"  Die  by  your  hand,  "  cried  the  economist  ;  "  but  why  ? 
Spare  me  !  you  wish  perhaps  to  kill  me  because  I  used 
to  say  that  you  were  a  mulatto.  But  spare  my  life,  and 
I  vow  that  I  will  always  declare  that  you  are  a  white 
man.  Yes,  you  are  white  ;  I  will  say  so  everywhere, 
but  spare  me  '  " 

The  unfortunate  man  had  taken  the  wrong  method  of 
suing  for  mercy. 

"  Silence,  silence  !  "  cried  the  half-caste,  furious  at 
the  idea  of  the  danger  he  was  incurring,  and  fearing 
that  the  negroes  would  hear  the  assertion. 

But  the  other  cried  louder  than  ever  that  he  knew 
that  he  was  a  white  man,  and  of  good  family.  The 
half-caste  made  a  last  effort  to  impose  silence  on  him  ; 
then  finding  his  efforts  vain,  he  thrust  aside  his  arms, 
and  pressed  the  dagger  upon  C 's  breast.  The  un- 
happy man  felt  the  point  of  the  weapon,  and  in  his 
despair  bit  the  arm  that  was  driving  the  dagger  home. 

"  Monster  !  wretch  '  "  exclaimed  he,  "  you  are  murder- 
ing me  !  "  Then  casting  a  glance  of  supplication  towards 
Biassou,  he  cried,  "  Defend  me,  avenger  of  humanity  !  " 

Then  the  murderer  pressed  more  heavily  on  the  dag- 
ger; a  gush  of  blood  bubbled  over  his  fingers,  and  spat- 
tered his  face.  The  knees  of  the  unhappy  lover  of  the 
negro  race  bent  beneath  him,  his  arms  fell  by  his 
side,  his  eyes  closed,  he  uttered  a  stifled  groan,  and 
fell  dead. 


CHAPTEE   XXXII. 

T  WAS  paralyzed  with  horror  at  this  scene,  in  which  I 
J-    every  moment  expected  to  play  an  important  part. 

The  "  avenger  of  humanity  "  had  gazed  on  the  struggle 
without  a  lineament  of  his  features  changing.  When  all 
was  over,  he  turned  to  his  terrified  pages.  "  More  to- 
bacco, "  said  he,  and  began  to  chew  calmly.  The  Obi 
and  Rigaud  were  equally  impassible,  but  the  negroes 
appeared  terrified  at  the  horrible  drama  that  their  gen- 
eral had  caused  to  be  enacted  before  them. 

One  white  man,  however,  yet  remained  to  be  slaugh- 
tered ;  my  turn  had  come.  I  cast  a  glance  upon  the 
murderer  who  was  about  to  become  my  executioner,  and 
a  feeling  of  pity  came  over  me.  His  lips  were  violet, 
his  teeth  chattered,  a  convulsive  tremor  caused  every 
limb  to  quiver.  By  a  mechanical  movement  his  hand 
was  continually  passed  over  his  forehead,  as  if  to  oblit- 
erate the  traces  of  the  blood  which  had  so  liberally 
sprinkled  it  ;  he  looked  with  an  air  of  terrified  wonder 
at  the  bleeding  body  which  lay  at  his  feet,  as  though  he 
were  unable  to  detach  his  strained  eyeballs  from  the 
spectacle  of  his  victim.  I  waited  for  the  moment  when 
he  would  resume  his  task  of  blood.  The  position  was  a 
strange  one  :  he  had  already  tried  to  kill  me  and  failed, 
to  prove  that  he  was  white  ;  and  now  he  wTas  going  to 
murder  me  to  show  that  he  was  black. 

*  Come,"  said  Biassou,  addressing  him,  "  this  is  good; 
I  am  pleased  with  you,  my  friend.  "     Then  glancing  at 


126  BUG-JARGAL. 

me,  he  added,  "  You  need  not  finish  the  other  one  ;  and 
now  I  declare  you  one  of  us,  and  name  you  executioner 
to  the  army.  " 

At  these  words  a  negro  stepped  out  of  the  ranks,  and 
bowing  three  times  to  the  general,  cried  out  in  his  jar- 
gon,  which  I  will  spare  you,  — 

"  And  I,  General  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Biassou. 

"  Are  you  going  to  do  nothing  for  me,  General  ?  "  asked 
the  negro.  "  Here  you  give  an  important  post  to  this 
dog  of  a  white,  who  murders  to  save  his  own  skin,  and 
to  prove  that  he  is  one  of  ourselves.  _  Have  you  no  post 
to  give  to  me,  who  am  a  true  black  ?  " 

This  unexpected  request  seemed  to  embarrass  Biassou, 
and  Eigaud  whispered  to  him  in  French,  — 

"  You  can't  satisfy  him  ;  try  to  elude  his  request.  " 

"  You  wish  for  promotion,  then  ?  "  asked  Biassou  of 
the  true  black.  "  Well,  I  am  willing  enough  to  grant 
it  to  you.      What  grade  do  you  wish  for  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  be  an  officer.  " 

"  An  officer,  eh  ?  And  what  are  your  claims  to  the 
epaulet  founded  on  ?  " 

"  It  was  I,  "  answered  the  negro,  emphatically,  "  who 
set  fire  to  the  house  of  Lagoscelte  in  the  first  days  of 
August  last.  It  was  I  who  murdered  M.  Clement  the 
planter,  and  carried  the  head  of  his  sugar  refiner  on  my 
pike.  I  killed  ten  white  women  and  seven  small  chil- 
dren, one  of  whom  on  the  point  of  a  spear  served  as  a 
standard  for  Bouckmann's  brave  blacks.  Later  on  I 
burnt  alive  the  families  of  four  colonists,  whom  I  had 
locked  up  in  the  strong  room  of  Fort  Galifet.  My  father 
was  broken  on  the  wheel  at  Cap,  my  brother  was  hung 
at  Eocrow,  and  I  narrowly  escaped  being  shot.  I  have 
burnt  three  coffee  plantations,  six  indigo  estates,  and 
two  hunderd  acres  of  sugar-cane  ;  I  murdered  my  master, 
M.  Noé,  and  his  mother—  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  127 

"  Spare  us  the  recital  of  your  services,  "  said  Bigaud, 
whose  feigned  benevolence  was  the  mask  for  real  cruelty, 
but  who  was  ferocious  with  decency,  and  could  not  lis- 
ten to  this  cynical  confession  of  deeds  of  violence. 

"  I  could  quote  many  others,  "  continued  the  negro, 
proudly,  "  but  you  will  no  doubt  consider  that  these  are 
sufficient  to  ensure  my  promotion,  and  to  entitle  me  to 
wear  a  gold  epaulet  like  my  comrades  there,  "  pointing 
to  the  staff  of  Biassou. 

The  general  affected  to  reflect  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  gravely  addressed  the  negro.  "  I  am  satisfied  with 
your  services,  and  should  be  pleased  to  promote  you; 
but  you  must  satisfy  me  on  one  point.  Do  you  under- 
stand Latin  ?  " 

The  astonished  negro  opened  his  eyes  widely.  "  Eh, 
General  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,  "  repeated  Biassou,  quickly  ;  "  do  you  under- 
stand Latin  ?  " 

"  La —  Latin  ?  "  stammered  the  astonished  negro. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,  Latin  ;  do  you  understand  Latin  ?  " 
said  the  cunning  chief,  and  unfolding  a  banner  upon 
which  was  embroidered  the  verse  from  the  Psalms,  "  In 
exitu  Israël  de  Egypto,  "  he  added,  "  Explain  the  mean- 
ing of  these  words.  " 

The  negro,  in  complete  ignorance  of  what  was  meant, 
remained  silent  and  motionless,  fumbling  with  the 
waistband  of  his  trousers,  while  his  astonished  eyes 
wandered  from  the  banner  to  the  general,  and  from  the 
general  back  again  to  the  banner. 

"  Come,  go  on  !  "  exclaimed  Biassou,  impatiently. 

The  negro  opened  and  shut  his  mouth  several  times, 
scratched  his  head,  and  at  last  said  slowly:  "I  don't 
understand  it,   General.  " 

"  How,  scoundrel  !  "  cried  Biassou  ;  "  you  wish  to  be' 
come  an  officer,  and  you  do  not  understand  Latin  !  " 


128  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  But,  General —  "  stammered  the  puzzled  negro. 

"  Silence  !  "  roared  Biassou,  whose  anger  appeared  to 
increase  ;  "  I  do  not  know  what  prevents  me  from  hav- 
ing you  shot  at  once.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  thing, 
Kigaud  ?  He  wants  to  be  an  officer,  and  does  not  under- 
stand Latin.  Well  then,  idiot,  as  you  do  not  under- 
stand, I  will  explain  what  is  written  on  this  banner: 
In  exitu  —  '  Every  soldier  '  —  Israël  —  '  who  does  not 
understand  Latin  '  —  de  Egypto  —  '  cannot  be  made  an 
officer.  '     Is  not  that  the  translation,  reverend  sir  ?  " 

The  Obi  bowed  his  head  in  the  affirmative,  and  Bias- 
sou  continued, — 

"  This  brother  of  whom  you  are  jealous,  and  whom  I 
have  appointed  executioner,  understands  Latin  !  "  He 
turned  to  the  new  executioner  :  "  You  know  Latin,  do 
you  not  ?  Prove  it  to  this  blockhead.  What  is  the 
meaning  of  Dominus  voliscum  ?  " 

The  unhappy  half-caste,  roused  from  his  gloomy  rev- 
erie by  the  dreaded  voice,  raised  his  head  ;  and  though 
his  brain  was  still  troubled  by  the  cowardly  murder 
that  he  had  just  committed,  terror  compelled  him  to  be 
obedient.  There  was  something  pitiable  in  his  manner, 
as  his  mind  went  back  to  his  schooldays,  and  in  the 
midst  of  his  terrible  feelings  and  remorse  he  repeated, 
in  the  tone  of  a  child  saying  its  lesson,  "  Dominus  vobis- 
cum,  --that  means,  '  May  the  Lord  be  with  you.  '  " 

"  Et  cum  spirito  tuo,  "  added  the  mysterious  Obi, 
solemnly. 

"  Amen,  "  repeated  Biassou  ;  then  resuming  his  angry 
manner,  and  mingling  with  his  reproaches  some  Latin 
phrases  to  impress  the  negroes  with  the  superior  attain- 
ments of  their  chief,  he  cried  :  "  Go  to  the  rear  rank, 
sursum  corda  /  Never  attempt  to  enter  the  places  of 
those  who  know  Latin,  orate  fratres,  or  I  will  have  you 
hung.     JBonus,  bona,  honum  !  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  129 

The  astonished  and  terrified  negro  slunk  away,  greeted 
by  the  hoots  and  hisses  of  his  comrades,  who  were  in- 
dignant at  his  presumption,  and  impressed  with  the 
deep  learning  of  their  general. 

Burlesque  though  this  scene  was,  it  inspired  me  with 
a  very  high  idea  of  Biassou's  administrative  capabilities. 
He  had  made  ridicule  the  means  of  repressing  ambi- 
tious aspirations,  which  are  always  so  dangerous  to 
authority  in  undisciplined  bodies  and  his  cunning  gave 
me  a  fuller  idea  of  his  mental  powers,  as  well  as  of  the 
crass  ignorance  of  the  negroes  under  his  command. 


CHAPTEK   XXXIII. 

r  I  ^HE  breakfast  hour  had  now  arrived.  The  shell  of 
'-*-  a  turtle  was  placed  before  Biassou,  in  which 
smoked  a  species  of  olla-podrida  seasoned  with  bacon, 
in  which  turtle -flesh  took  the  place  of  lamb  ;  an  enor- 
mous carib  cabbage  floated  on  the  surface  of  the  stew, 
and  in  addition,  on  strips  of  bark,  were  dried  raisins 
and  water-melons,  a  loaf  of  maize  bread  ;  a  bottle  of 
wine,  bound  round  with  tarred  string,  completed  the 
feast.  Biassou  took  from  his  pocket  a  few  heads  of 
garlic  and  rubbed  his  bread  with  them;  then,  without 
even  ordering  the  bleeding  form  to  be  carried  away,  he 
began  to  eat,  inviting  Eigaud  to  do  the  same.  There 
was  something  terrible  in  Biassou 's  appetite. 

The  Obi  did  not  join  their  repast  ;  like  others  in  his 
profession,  I  could  easily  understand  that  he  never  took 
anything  in  public,  to  induce  a  belief  among  the  negroes 
that  he  lived  entirely  without  food. 

During  breakfast,  Biassou  ordered  one  of  his  aides-de- 
camp to  direct  the  review  of  the  army  to  commence,  and 
the  different  corps  began  to  defile  past  in  fairly  good 
order.  The  negroes  of  Morne-Bouge  were  the  first  ;  there 
were  about  four  thousand  of  them,  divided  into  com- 
panies commanded  by  chiefs,  who  were  distinguished 
by  their  scarlet  breeches  and  sashes.  This  force  was 
composed  of  tall  and  powerful  negroes  ;  some  of  them 
carried  guns,  axes,  and  sabres,  but  many  had  no  other 
arms  than  bows  and  arrows,  and  javelins  rudely  fash- 


BUG-JARGAL.  131 

ioned  by  themselves.  They  carried  no  standard,  and 
moved  past  in  mournful  silence.  As  they  marched  on, 
Biassou  whispered  to  Eigaud,  — 

"  When  will  Blanchelande's  and  Eouvray's  shot  and 
shell  free  me  from  these  bandits  of  Morne-Eouge  ?  I 
hate  them  ;  they  are  nearly  all  of  them  Congos,  and  they 
only  believe  in  killing  in  open  battle,  —  following  the 
example  of  their  chief  Bug-Jargal,  a  young  fool,  who 
plays  at  being  generous  and  magnanimous.  You  do  not 
know  him,  Eigaud,  and  I  hope  you  never  will  ;  for  the 
whites  have  taken  him  prisoner,  and  they  may  perhaps 
rid  me  of  him,   as  they  did  of  Bouckmann.  " 

"  Speaking  of  Bouckmann,  "  answered  Eigaud  "  there 
are  the  negroes  of  Macaya  just  passing,  and  I  see  in 
their  ranks  the  negro  whom  Jean  François  sent  to  you 
with  the  news  of  Bouckmann 's  death.  Do  you  know 
that  that  man  might  upset  all  the  prophecies  of  the  Obi, 
if  he  were  to  say  that  he  had  been  kept  for  more  than 
half  an  hour  at  the  outposts,  and  that  he  had  told  nie 
the  news  before  you  sent  for  him  ?  " 

"  Diabolo  !  "  answered  Biassou,  you  are  in  the  right, 
my  friend;  this  man's  mouth  must  be  shut.  Wait  a 
bit.  " 

Then  raising  his  voice  he  called  out  "  Macaya  !  "  The 
leader  of  the  division  left  the  ranks,  and  approached  the 
general  with  the  stock  of  his  firelock  reversed,  in  token 
of  respect. 

"  Make  that  man  who  does  not  belong  to  your  division 
leave  his  rank  and  come  forward.  " 

Macaya  speedily  brought  the  messenger  of  Jean 
François  before  the  general,  who  at  once  assumed  that 
appearance  of  anger  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to 
simulate. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  cried  he. 

"  General,  I  am  a  black.  " 


132  BUG-JAÏfcGAL. 

u  Carramha  !  I  can  see  that  well  enough  ;  but  what  is 
your  name  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Vavelan  ;  my  patron  saint  is  Sabas, 
deacon  and  martyr,  whose  feast  is  on  the  twentieth  day 
before  the  nativity  of  our  Lord.  " 

Biassou  interrupted  him:  "How  dare  you  present 
yourself  on  parade,  amidst  shining  muskets  and  white 
cross-belts,  with  your  sword  without  a  sheath,  your 
breeches  torn,  and  your  feet  muddy  ?  " 

"  General,  "  answered  the  negro,  "  it  is  not  my  fault. 
T  was  dispatched  by  the  Grand  Admiral,  Jean  François, 
to  bring  you  the  news  of  the  death  of  the  chief  of  the 
English  negroes  ;  and  if  my  clothes  are  torn  and  my  feet 
bemired,  it  is  because  I  have  run,  without  stopping  to 
take  breath,  to  bring  you  the  news  as  soon  as  possible  ; 
but  they  detained  me  at  —  " 

Biassou  frowned.  "  I  did  not  ask  you  about  that,  but 
how  you  dared  to  enter  the  ranks  in  so  unbecoming  a 
dress.  Commend  your  soul  to  Saint  Sabas,  your  patron, 
the  deacon  and  martyr,  and  go  and  get  yourself  shot.  " 

And  here  I  had  another  proof  of  the  ascendency  that 
Biassou  exercised  over  the  insurgents.  The  unfortunate 
man  who  was  ordered  to  go  and  get  himself  executed 
did  not  utter  a  protest  ;  he  bowed  his  head,  crossed  his 
arms  on  his  breast,  saluted  his  pitiless  judge  three 
times,  and  after  having  knelt  to  the  Obi,  who  gave  him 
plenary  absolution,  he  left  the  cavern.  A  few  minutes 
afterwards  a  volley  of  musketry  told  us  that  Biassou's 
commands  had  been  obeyed,  and  that  the  negro  was  no 
more. 

Freed  from  all  sources  of  uneasiness,  the  general 
turned  to  Eigaud,  a  gleam  of  pleasure  in  his  eye,  and 
gave  a  triumphant  chuckle  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Ad- 
mire me  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

BUT  the  review  still  continued.  This  army,  which 
had  presented  so  curious  a  spectacle  in  camp,  had 
a  no  less  extraordinary  appearance  under  arms.  Some- 
times a  horde  of  almost  naked  negroes  would  come  along 
armed  with  clubs  and  tomahawks,  marching  to  the 
notes  of  a  goat's  horn  like  mere  savages  ;  then  would 
come  regiments  of  mulattoes,  dressed  in  the  English  or 
Spanish  manner,  well  armed  and  equipped,  regulating 
their  pace  by  the  roll  of  the  drum  ;  then  a  band  of  né- 
gresses and  their  children  carrying  forks  and. spits; 
then  some  tag-rag,  bent  under  the  weight  of  an  old  mus- 
ket without  lock  or  barrel  ;  then  griotes  with  their  feath- 
ered aprons,  griots  dancing  with  hideous  contortions, 
and  singing  incoherent  airs  to  the  accompaniment  of 
guitars,  tomtoms,  and  balafos  ;  then  would  be  a  proces- 
sion of  priests,  or  Obi  men,  of  half-castes,  quarter-castes, 
free  mulattoes,  or  wandering  hordes  of  escaped  slaves 
with  a  proud  look  of  liberty  on  their  faces  and  shining 
muskets  on  their  shoulders,  dragging  in  their  ranks 
well -filled  wagons,  or  some  artillery  taken  from  the 
whites,  which  were  looked  on  more  as  trophies  than  as 
military  engines,  and  yelling  out  at  the  top  of  their  voices 
the  songs  of  "  Grand-Pré  "  and  "  Oua-Nassé.  "  Above 
the  heads  of  all  floated  flags,  banners,  and  standards  of 
every  form,  colour,  and  device, — white,  red,  tricolour, 
with  the  lilies,  with  thc  iap  of  liberty,  bearing  inscrip- 
tions :    "  Death  to  Priests  and   Nobles  !  "     "  Long   live 


134  BUG-JARGAL. 

Eeligion  !  "  "  Liberty  and  Equality  !  "  "  Long  live  the 
King  !  "  "  Viva  Espana  !  "  "  No  more  Tyrants  !  "  etc. , 
—  a  confusion  of  sentiments  which  showed  that  the  in- 
surgents were  a  mere  crowd  collected  together,  with 
ideas  as  different  as  were  the  men  who  composed  it. 
On  passing  in  their  turn  before  the  cave  the  companies 
drooped  their  banners,  and  Biassou  returned  the  salute. 
He  addressed  every  band  either  in  praise  or  censure,  and 
each  word  that  dropped  from  his  mouth  was  received  by 
his  men  with  fanatical  respect  or  superstitious  dread. 

The  wave  of  savage  soldiery  passed  away  at  last.  I 
confess  that  the  sight  that  had  at  first  afforded  some  dis- 
traction to  my  feelings  finished  by  wearying  me.  The 
sun  went  down  as  the  last  ranks  filed  away,  and  his  last 
rays  cast  a  copper-coloured  hue  upon  the  granite  portals 
of  the  cave. 


CHAPTEE   XXXV. 

BIASSOU  seemed  to  be  dreaming.  When  the  review 
was  concluded,  his  last  orders  had  been  given,  and 
the  insurgents  had  retired  to  the  huts,  he  condescended 
to  address  me  again. 

"  Young  man,  "  said  he,  "  you  have  now  had  the 
means  of  judging  of  my  power  and  genius  ;  the  time  has 
now  arrived  for  you  to  bear  the  report  to  Leogri.  " 

"  It  is  not  my  fault  that  he  has  not  had  it  earlier,  " 
answered  I,   coldly. 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Biassou.  He  then  paused,  as 
if  to  note  what  the  effect  would  be  upon  me  of  what  he 
was  going  to  say,  and  then  added  :  "  But  it  will  depend 
upon  yourself  whether  you  ever  carry  the  message  or  not.  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "   exclaimed  I,  in  astonishment. 

"  Why,  "  replied  he,  "  that  your  life  depends  upon 
yourself,  and  that  you  can  save  it  if  you  will.  " 

This  sudden  paroxysm  of  pity  —  the  first,  and  no 
doubt  the  last,  which  had  ever  possessed  Biassou  —  sur- 
prised me  much,  and  astonished  the  Obi  so  greatly  that 
he  leaped  from  the  position  which  he  had  so  long  main- 
tained, and  placing  himself  face  to  face  with  the  general 
addressed  him  in  angry  tones  :  — 

"  What  are  you  saying  ?  Have  you  forgotten  your 
promise  ?  Neither  God  nor  you  can  dispose  of  this 
life,  for  it  belongs  to  me.  n 

At  that  instant  I  thought  that  I  recognized  the  voice  ; 
but  it  was  only  a  fleeting  recollection,  and  in  a  moment 
had  passed  away. 

Biassou  got  up  from  his  seat  without  betraying  any 
anger,  spoke  for  a  few  moments  in  whispers  to  the  Obi, 


136  BUG-JARGAL. 

and  pointed  to  the  black  flag  which  I  had  already  re- 
marked ;  and  after  a  little  more  conversation  the  Obi 
nodded  in  sign  of  assent.  Both  of  them  then  reverted  to 
their  former  positions. 

"  Listen  to  me,  "  said  the  general,  drawing  from  his 
pocket  the  dispatch  which  Jean  François  had  sent  to 
him.  "  Things  are  going  ill.  Bouckmann  has  been 
killed.  The  whites  have  slaughtered  more  than  two 
thousand  of  our  men  in  the  district  of  Cul-de-Sac.  The 
colonists  are  continuing  to  establish  and  to  fortify  military 
posts.  By  our  own  folly  we  have  lost  the  chance  of  taking 
Cap,  and  it  will  be  long  before  another  occasion  will  pre- 
sent itself.  On  the  eastern  side  our  line  of  march  has  been 
cut  by  a  river,  and  the  whites  have  defended  the  pas- 
sage by  a  pontoon  battery  and  a  fortified  camp.  On  the 
south  side  they  have  planted  artillery  on  the  mountain- 
ous road  called  the  Haut-du-Cap.  The  position  is,  in 
addition,  defended  by  a  strong  stockade,  at  which  all 
the  inhabitants  have  laboured,  and  in  front  of  it  there 
is  a  strong  chevaux-de-frise.  Cap,  therefore,  is  beyond 
our  reach.  Our  ambush  in  the  ravines  of  Dompte- 
Mulâtre  was  a  failure  ;  and,  to  acid  to  all  these  misfor- 
tunes, the  Siamese  fever  has  devastated  our  camps.  In 
consequence,  the  Grand  Admiral  (and  I  agree  with  him) 
has  decided  to  treat  with  the  Governor  Blanchelande 
and  the  Colonial  Assembly.  Here  is  the  letter  that  we 
have  addressed  to  the  Assembly  on  this  matter.  Listen  !  " 

Gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Deputies,  —  In  the  great 
misfortunes  which  have  afflicted  this  great  and  important  col- 
ony we  have  also  been  enveloped,  and  there  remains  nothing 
for  us  to  say  in  justification  of  our  conduct.  One  day  you 
will  render  us  the  justice  that  our  conduct  merits. 

According  to  us,  the  King  of  Spain  is  a  good  king,  who 
treats  us  well,  and  has  testified  it  to  us  by  rewards;  so  we 
shall  continue  to  serve  him  with  zeal  and  devotion. 


BUG-JARGAL,  137 

We  see  by  the  law  of  Sept.  28,  1791,  that  the  National 
Assembly  and  the  King  have  agreed  to  settle  definitely  the 
status  of  slaves,  and  the  political  situation  of  people  of  colour. 
We  will  defend  the  decrees  of  the  National  Assembly  with 
the  last  drop  of  our  blood. 

It  would  be  most  interesting  to  us  if  you  would  declare,  by 
an  order  sanctioned  by  your  general,  as  to  your  intentions 
regarding  the  position  of  the  slaves.  Knowing  that  they  are 
the  objects  of  your  solicitude  through  their  chiefs,  who  send 
you  this,  they  will  be  satisfied  if  the  relations  now  broken 
are  once  again  resumed. 

Do  not  count,  gentlemen  Deputies,  upon  our  consenting  to 
take  up  arms  for  the  revolutionary  Assemblies.  We  are  the 
subjects  of  three  kings,  — the  King  of  Congo,  the  born  mas- 
ter of  all  the  blacks;  the  King  of  France,  who  represents  our 
fathers;  and  the  King  of  Spain,  who  is  the  representative 
of  our  mothers.  These  three  kings  are  the  descendants  of 
those  who,  conducted  by  a  star,  worshipped  the  Man  God.  If 
we  were  to  consent  to  serve  the  Assemblies,  we  might  be 
forced  to  take  up  arms  and  to  make  war  against  our  brothers, 
the  subjects  of  those  three  kings  to  whom  we  have  sworn 
fidelity.  And,  besides,  we  do  not  know  what  is  meant  by 
the  will  of  the  Nation,  seeing  that  since  the  world  has  been 
in  existence  we  have  always  executed  that  of  the  King.  The 
Prince  of  France  loves  us;  the  King  of  Spain  never  ceases 
to  help  us.  We  aid  them,  —  they  aid  us;  it  is  the  cause  of 
humanity;  and,  besides,  if  these  kings  should  fail  us  we 
could  soon  enthrone  a  king  of  our  own. 

Such  are  our  intentions,  although  we  now  consent  to  make 
peace. 

{Signed)  Jean  François,  General. 

Biassou,  Brigadier. 
Desprez,         \ 

Manzeau,       I    Commissaires, 
Toussaint,     l         ad  hoc.1 
Aubert,         ) 

1  It  is  a  fact  that  thifc  ridiculously  characteristic  letter  was  sent  to  tha 
Assembly. 


138  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  You  see,  "  said  Biassou,  after  he  had  read  this  piece 
of  negro  diplomacy,  every  word  of  which  has  remained 
imprinted  on  my  memory,  "  that  our  intentions  are 
peaceable  ;  but  this  is  what  we  want  you  to  do  :  Neither 
Jean  François  nor  I  have  been  brought  up  in  the  schools 
of  the  whites,  or  learned  the  niceties  of  their  language  ; 
we  know  how  to  light,  but  not  how  to  write.  Now,  we 
do  not  wish  that  there  should  be  anything  in  our  letter 
at  which  our  former  masters  can  laugh.  You  seem  to 
have  learned  these  frivolous  accomplishments  in  which 
we  are  lacking.  Correct  any  faults  you  may  find  in  this 
dispatch,  so  that  it  may  excite  no  derision  among  the 
whites,  and  —  I  will  give  you  your  life!  " 

This  proposition  of  becoming  the  corrector  of  Biassou 's 
faults  of  spelling  and  composition  was  too  repugnant  to 
my  pride  for  me  to  hesitate  for  a  moment  ;  and  besides, 
what  did  I  care  for  life  ?  I  declined  his  offer.  He  ap- 
peared surprised. 

"  What  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  you  prefer  death  to  scrawl- 
ing a  few  marks  with  a  pen  on  a  piece  of  paper  ?  " 

"  Yes,  "  replied  I. 

My  determination  seemed  to  embarrass  him.  After  a 
few  moments  of  thought  he  again  addressed  me  :  "  Lis- 
ten, young  fool  !  I  am  less  obstinate  than  you  are  ;  I 
give  you  until  to-morrow  evening,  up  to  the  setting  of 
the  sun,  when  you  shall  again  be  brought  before  me. 
Think  well,  then,  before  you  refuse  to  obey  my  wishes. 
Adieu.  Let  night  bring  reflection  to  you  ;  and  remem- 
ber that  with  us  death  is  not  simply  death,  —  much 
comes  before  you  reach  it.  " 

The  frightful  sardonic  grin  with  which  he  concluded 
his  last  speech  too  plainly  brought  to  my  recollection 
the  awful  tortures  which  it  was  Biassou ?s  greatest  pleas- 
ure to  inflict  upon  his  prisoners. 

"  Candi,  "  continued  Biassou,   "  remove  the  prisoner. 


BUG-JARGAL.  139 

and  give  his  in  charge  to  the  men  of  Morne-Kouge.  I 
wish  him  to  live  for  another  day,  and  perhaps  my  other 
soldiers  would  not  have  the  patience  to  let  him  do  so.  " 

The  mulatto  Candi,  who  commanded  the  guard,  caused 
my  arms  to  be  bound  behind  my  back  ;  a  soldier  took 
hold  of  the  end  of   the  cord,  and  we  left  the  grotto. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

"Xll^HEN  any  extraordinary  events,  unexpected  anxi- 
W  eties  or  catastrophies,  intrude  themselves  sud- 
denly into  a  life  up  to  that  period  peaceful  and  happy, 
these  unexpected  emotions  interrupt  the  repose  of  the 
soul  which  lay  dreaming  in  the  monotony  of  prosperity. 
Misfortune  which  comes  on  you  in  this  manner  does  not 
seem  like  an  awakening  from  bliss,  but  rather  like  a 
dream  of  evil.  With  the  man  who  has  been  invariably 
happy,  despair  begins  with  stupor.  Unexpected  misery 
is  like  cramp,  —  it  clasps,  and  deadens  everything. 
Men,  acts,  and  things  at  that  time  pass  before  us  like  a 
fantastic  apparition,  and  move  along  as  if  in  a  dream. 
Everything  in  the  horizon  of  our  life  is  changed,  both 
the  atmosphere  and  the  perspective  ;  but  it  still  goes  on 
for  a  long  time  before  our  eyes  have  lost  that  sort  of 
luminous  image  of  past  happiness  which  follows  in  its 
train,  and  interposes  without  cessation  between  it  and 
the  sombre  present.  Then  everything  that  is  appears  to 
be  unreal  and  ridiculous,  and  we  can  scarcely  believe  in 
our  own  existence,  because  we  find  nothing  around  us 
that  formerly  used  to  compose  our  life,  and  we  cannot 
understand  how  all  can  have  gone  away  without  taking 
us  with  it,  and  why  nothing  of  our  life  remains  to  us. 

Were  this  strained  position  of  the  soul  to  continue 
long,  it  would  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  the  brain  and 
become  madness, — a  state  happier  perhaps  than  that 
which  remains,  for  life  then  is  nothing  but  a  vision  of 
past  misfortune,  acting  like  a  ghost. 


CHAPTEE  XXXVII 

GENTLEMEN,  I  hardly  know  why  I  lay  before  you 
my  ideas  upon  such  a  subject  ;  they  are  not  those 
which  you  understand,  or  can  be  made  to  understand. 
To  comprehend  them  thoroughly,  you  must  have  gone 
through  what  I  have.  But  such  was  the  state  of  my 
mind  when  the  guards  of  Biassou  handed  me  over  to 
the ,  negroes  of  Morne-Eouge.  I  was  still  in  a  dream, 
—  it  appeared  as  if  one  body  of  phantoms  passed  me 
over  to  another  ;  and  without  opposing  any  resistance  I 
permitted  them  to  bind  me  by  the  middle  to  a  tree. 
They  then  gave  me  some  boiled  potatoes,  which  I  ate 
with  the  mechanical  instinct  that  God  grants  to  man 
even  in  the  midst  of  overwhelming  thought. 

The  darkness  had  now  come  on,  and  my  guards  took 
refuge  in  their  huts,  —  with  the  exception  of  half-a- 
dozen  who  remained  with  me,  lying  before  a  large  fire 
that  they  had  lighted  to  preserve  themselves  from  the 
cold  night-air.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  all  buried 
in  profound  sleep. 

The  state  of  physical  weakness  into  which  I  had 
fallen  caused  my  thoughts  to  wander  in  a  strange  man- 
ner. I  thought  of  those  calm  and  peaceful  days  which 
but  a  few  weeks  ago  I  had  passed  with  Marie,  without 
being  able  to  foresee  any  future  but  one  of  continued 
happiness.  I  compared  them  with  the  day  that  had 
just  expired,  —  a  day  in  which  so  many  strange  events 
had  occurred  as  almost  to  make  me  wonder  whether  I 
was  not  labouring  under  some  delusion.     I  had  been 


142  BUG-JARGAL. 

three  times  condemned  to  death,  and  still  remained  un- 
der sentence.  I  thought  of  my  future,  bounded  only  by 
the  morrow,  and  which  offered  nothing  but  misfortune 
and  a  death  happily  near  at  hand.  I  seemed  to  be  the 
victim  of  some  terrible  nightmare.  Again  and  again  1 
asked  myself  if  all  that  had  happened  was  real  :  was  I 
really  in  the  power  of  the  sanguinary  Biassou,  and  was  my 
Marie  lost  to  me  forever  ?  Could  this  prisoner,  guarded 
by  six  savages,  bound  to  a  tree,  and  condemned  to  cer- 
tain death,  really  be  I  \  In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to 
repel  them,  the  thoughts  of  Marie  would  force  them- 
selves upon  me.  In  anguish  I  thought  of  her  fate  ;  I 
strained  my  bonds  in  my  efforts  to  break  them,  and  to 
fly  to  her  succour,  ever  hoping  that  the  terrible  dream 
would  pass  away,  and  that  Heaven  \70uld  not  permit  all 
the  horrors  that  I  dreaded  to  fall  upon  the  head  of  her 
who  had  been  united  to  me  in  a  sacred  bond.  In  my 
sad  preoccupation  the  thought  of  Pierrot  returned  to  me, 
and  rage  nearly  took  away  my  senses  ;  the  pulses  of  my 
temples  throbbed  nearly  to  bursting.  I  hated  him,  I 
cursed  him  ;  I  despised  myself  for  having  ever  had 
friendship  for  Pierrot  at  the  same  time  I  had  felt  love 
for  Marie  ;  and  without  caring  to  seek  for  the  motive 
which  had  urged  him  to  cast  himself  into  the  waters  of 
Grande-Eiviere,  I  wept  because  he  had  escaped  me.  He 
was  dead,  and  I  was  about  to  die,  and  all  that  I  re- 
gretted was  that  I  had  been  unable  to  wreak  my  ven- 
geance upon  him. 

During  the  state  of  semi-somnolency  into  which  my 
weakness  had  plunged  me,  these  thoughts  passed  through 
my  brain.  I  do  not  know  how  long  it  lasted,  but  I  was 
aroused  by  a  man's  voice  singing  distinctly,  but  at  some 
distance,  the  old  Spanish  song,  "  Yo  que  soy  contraban- 
dists "  Quivering  with  emotion  I  opened  my  eyes  ;  all 
was  dark  around  me,    the  negroes  slept,    the  fire  was 


BUG-JARGAL.  143 

dying  down.  I  could  hear  nothing  more.  I  fancied 
that  the  voice  must  have  been  a  dream,  and  my  sleep- 
laden  eyelids  closed  again.  In  a  second  I  opened  them  ; 
lor  again  I  heard  the  voice  singing  sadly,  but  much 
nearer,  the  same  song,  — 

"  'T  was  on  the  field  of  Ocanen 
That  I  fell  in  their  power, 
To  Cotadilla  taken, 

Unhappy  from  that  hour." 

This  time  it  was  not  a  charm,  —  it  was  Pierrot's 
voice.  A  few  moments  elapsed  ;  then  it  rose  again 
through  the  silence  and  the  gloom,  and  once  more  I 
heard  the  well-known  air  of  "  Yo  que  soy  contraban- 
dista,  "  A  dog  ran  eagerly  to  greet  me,  and  rolled  at 
my  feet  in  token  of  welcome  ;  it  was  Eask  !  A  tall 
negro  stood  facing  me,  and  the  glimmer  of  the  fire  threw 
his  shadow,  swelled  to  colossal  proportions,  upon  the 
sward.      It  was  Pierrot 

The  thirst  for  vengeance  fired  my  brain  ;  surprise  ren- 
dered me  motionless  and  dumb.  I  was  not  asleep. 
Could  the  dead  return  ?  If  not  a  dream,  it  must  be  an 
apparition.      I  turned  from  him  with  horror. 

When  he  saw  me  do  this,  his  head  sank  upon  his 
breast.  "  Brother,  "  murmured  he,  "  you  promised  that 
you  would  never  doubt  me  when  you  heard  me  sing  that 
song.      My  brother,  have  you  forgotten  your  promise  ?  " 

Page  restored  the  power  of  speech  to  me.  u  Monster  !  " 
exclaimed  I,  "  do  I  see  you  at  last  ?  Butcher,  murderer 
of  my  uncle,  ravisher  of  Marie,  dare  you  call  me 
your  brother  ?     Do  not  venture  to  approach  me  !  " 

I  forgot  that  I  was  too  securely  tied  to  make  the 
slightest  movement,  and  glanced  to  my  left  side  as 
though  to  seek  my  sword. 

My  intention  did  not  escape  him,  and  he  continued 


144  BUG-JARGAL. 

in  a  sorrowful  tone  of  voice  :  "  No,  I  will  not  come  near 
you;  you  are  unhappy  and  I  pity  you, —  while  you  have 
no  pity  for  me,  though  I  am  much  more  wretched  than 
you  are.  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  ;  he  understood  my  feelings, 
and  in  a  half  dreamy  manner  continued,  — 

"  Yes,  you  have  lost  much  :  but,  believe  me,  I  have 
lost  more  than  you  have.  " 

But  the  sound  of  our  conversation  had  aroused  the 
negro  guard.  Perceiving  a  stranger,  they  leaped  to  their 
feet  and  seized  their  weapons  ;  but  as  soon  as  they  recog- 
nized the  intruder  they  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  and  joy, 
and  cast  themselves  at  his  feet,  striking  the  ground  with 
their  foreheads. 

But  neither  the  homage  that  the  negroes  rendered  to 
Pierrot,  nor  the  fondlings  of  Eask,  made  any  impression 
upon  me  at  the  moment.  I  was  boiling  over  with  pas- 
sion, and  maddened  at  the  bonds  that  restrained  me , 
and  at  length  my  fury  found  words.  "  Oh,  how  un- 
happy  I  am  !  "  I  exclaimed,  shedding  tears  of  rage.  "  1 
was  grieving  because  I  thought  that  this  wretch  had 
committed  suicide,  and  robbed  me  of  my  just  revenge  ; 
and  now  he  is  here  to  mock  me,  living  and  breathing 
under  my  very  eyes,  and  I  am  powerless  to  stab  him  to 
the  heart  !  Is  there  no  One  to  free  me  from  these  ac- 
cursed cords  ?  " 

Pierrot  turned  to  the  negroes,  who  were  still  prostrate 
before  him. 

"  Comrades,  "  said  he,  "  release  the  prisoner  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

HE  was  promptly  obeyed.  With  the  greatest  eager 
ness,  my  guards  cut  asunder  the  ropes  that  con* 
fined  me.  I  rose  up  free  ;  but  I  remained  motionless, 
for  surprise  rooted  me  to  the  spot. 

"  That  is  not  all,  "  said  Pierrot  ;  and  snatching  a  dag- 
ger from  one  of  the  negroes,  he  handed  it  to  me.  "  You 
can  now  have  your  wish.  Heaven  would  not  be  pleased 
should  I  dispute  your  right  to  dispose  of  my  life.  Three 
times  you  have  preserved  it.  Strike  !  it  is  yours,  I  say  ; 
and  if  you  wish,  strike  !  " 

There  was  no  sign  of  anger  or  of  bitterness  in  his 
face  ;  he  appeared  resigned  and  mournful.  The  very 
vengeance  offered  to  me  by  the  man  with  whom  I  had 
so  much  longed  to  stand  face  to  face,  prevented  my 
seizing  the  opportunity.  I  felt  that  all  my  hatred  for 
Pierrot,  all  my  love  for  Marie,  could  not  induce  me  to 
commit  a  cowardly  murder;  besides,  however  damning 
appearances  might  be,  a  voice  from  the  depths  of  my 
heart  warned  me  that  no  criminal,  no  guilty  man,  would 
thus  dare  to  stand  before  me  and  brave  my  vengeance. 
Shall  I  confess  it  to  you,  —  there  was  a  certain  imperi- 
ous fascination  about  this  extraordinary  being  which 
conquered  me  in  spite  of  myself.  I  pushed  aside  the 
dagger  he  offered  to  me. 

"  Wretch  !  "  cried  I,  "  I  wish  to  kill  you  in  fair  fight  ; 
but  I  am  no  assassin.     Defend  yourself  !  " 

"  Defend  myself  '  "  replied  he,  in  tones  of  astonish* 
ment,  "  and  against  whom  ?  " 


146  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  Against  me  !  " 

He  started  back.  "  Against  you  !  That  is  the  only 
thing  in  which  I  cannot  obey  you.  Look  at  Eask  there  : 
I  could  easily  kill  him,  for  he  would  let  me  do  it  ;  but 
as  for  making  him  fight  me,  the  thing  would  be  impos- 
sible, —  he  would  not  understand  me  if  I  told  him  to  do 
so.     I  do  not  understand  you  ;  in  your  case  I  am  Eask.  " 

After  a  short  silence,  he  added  :  "  I  see  the  gleam  of 
hate  in  your  eyes,  as  you  once  saw  it  in  mine.  I  know 
that  you  have  suffered  much  ;  that  your  uncle  has  been 
murdered,  your  plantations  burned,  your  friends  slaugh- 
tered. Yes,  they  have  plundered  your  house,  and  devas- 
tated your  inheritance  ;  but  it  was  not  I  that  did  these 
things,  it  was  my  people.  Listen  to  me.  I  one  day 
told  you  that  your  people  had  done  me  much  injury; 
you  said  that  you  must  not  be  blamed  for  the  acts  of 
others.     What  was  my  reply  ?  " 

His  face  grew  brighter  as  he  awaited  my  reply,  evi- 
dently expecting  that  I  would  embrace  him  ;  but  fixing 
an  angry  gaze  upon  him,   I  answered,  — 

"  You  disdain  all  responsibility  as  to  the  acts  of  your 
people,  but  you  say  nothing  about  what  you  have  vour- 
self  done.  " 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  asked  he. 

I  stepped  up  close  to  him,  and  in  a  voice  of  thunder 
I  demanded,  "  Where  is  Marie  ?  What  have  you  done 
with  Marie  ?  " 

At  this  question  a  cloud  passed  over  his  face  ;  he 
seemed  momentarily  embarrassed.  At  last  he  spoke. 
"  Marie  !  "  said  he  ;  "  yes,  you  are  right.  But  too  many 
ears  listen  to  us  here.  " 

His  embarrassment,  and  the  words  "  You  are  right,  " 
raised  the  hell  of  jealousy  in  my  heart;  yet  still  he 
gazed  upon  me  with  a  perfectly  open  countenance,  and 
in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion,  said,  — 


BUG-JARGAL.  147 

*  Do  not  suspect  me,  I  implore  you  !  Besides,  I  will 
fcell  you  everything  ;  love  me,  .as  I  love  you,  witn  per- 
fect trust.  "  He  paused  to  mark  the  effect  of  his  words, 
and  then  added  tenderly,  "  May  I  not  again  call  you 
brother  ?  " 

But  I  was  a  prey  to  my  jealous  feelings,  and  his 
friendly  words  seemed  to  me  but  the  deep  machinations 
of  a  hypocrite,  and  only  served  to  exasperate  me  more. 
"  Dare  you  recall  the  time  when  you  did  so,  you  mon- 
ster of  ingratitude  ?  "   I  exclaimed. 

He  interrupted  me,  a  tear  shining  in  his  eye  :  "  It  is 
not  I  who  am  ungrateful.  " 

"  Well,  then,  "  I  continued,  "  tell  me  what  you  have 
done  with  Marie  !  " 

"  Not  here, .  not  here  !  "  answered  he,  —  *  other  ears 
than  ours  listen  to  our  words  ;  besides,  you  would  not 
believe  me,  and  time  presses.  The  day  has  come,  and 
you  must  be  removed  from  this.  All  is  at  an  end. 
Since  you  doubt  me,  far  better  would  it  have  been  for 
you  to  take  the  dagger  and  finish  all  ;  but  wait  a  little 
before  you  take  what  you  call  your  vengeance,  —  I  must 
first  free  you.      Come  with  me  to  Biassou.  " 

His  mauner,  both  in  speaking  and  acting,  concealed  a 
mystery  which  I  could  not  understand.  In  spite  of  all 
my  prejudices  against  the  man,  his  voice  always  made 
my  heart  vibrate.  In  listening  to  him,  a  certain  hidden 
power  that  he  possessed  subjugated  me.  I  found  myself 
hesitating  between  vengeance  and  pity,  between  the 
bitterest  distrust  and  the  blindest  confidence.  I  fol- 
lowed him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

WE  left  the  camp  of  the  negroes  of  Morne-Rouge. 
I  could  not  help  thinking  it  strange  to  find  my- 
self  at  perfect  liberty  among  a  horde  of  savages,  in  a 
spot  where  the  evening  before  each  man  had  seemed 
only  too  ready  to  shed  my  blood.  Far  from  seeking  to 
bar  our  progress,  both  the  negroes  and  the  mulattoes 
prostrated  themselves  on  all  sides,  with  exclamations  of 
surprise,  joy,  and  respect.  I  was  ignorant  what  rank 
Pierrot  held  in  the  army  of  the  insurgents  ;  but  I  re- 
membered the  influence  that  he  used  to  exercise  over 
his  companions  in  slavery,  and  this  appeared  to  me 
to  account  for  the  respect  with  which  he  was  now 
treated. 

On  our  arrival  at  the  guard  before  the  grotto,  the 
mulatto  Candi  advanced  before  us  with  threatening  ges- 
tures, demanding  how  we  dared  approach  so  near  the 
general's  quarters;  but  when  he  came  close  enough  to 
recognize  my  conductor,  he  hurriedly  removed  his  gold- 
laced  cap,  as  though  terrified  at  his  own  audacity,  bowed 
to  the  ground,  and  at  once  introduced  us  into  Biassou's 
presence  with  a  thousand  apologies,  of  which  Pierrot 
took  no  heed. 

The  respect  with  which  the  simple  negro  soldiers  had 
treated  Pierrot  excited  my  surprise  very  little  ;  but  see- 
ing Candi,  one  of  the  principal  officers  of  the  army, 
humiliate  himself  thus  before  my  uncle's  slave,  made 
me  ask  myself  who  this  man  could  be  whose  power  was 
illimitable.     How  much  more  astonished  was  I  then, 


BUG-JARGAL.  149 

when,  upon  being  introduced  into  the  presence  of  Bias- 
sou, —  who  was  alone  when  we  entered,  and  was  quietly 
enjoying  his  calalou,  —  he  started  to  his  feet,  concealing 
disappointment  and  surprise  under  the  appearance  of 
profound  respect,  bowed  humbly  to  my  companion,  and 
offered  him  his  mahogany  throne. 

Pierrot  declined  it.  "  No,  Jean  Biassou,  "  said  he. 
"  I  have  not  come  to  take  your  place,  but  simply  to  ask 
a  favour  at  your  hands.  " 

"Your  Highness,"  answered  Biassou,  redoubling  his 
obeisances,  "  you  know  well  that  all  Jean  Biassou  has  is 
yours,  and  that  you  can  dispose  as  freely  of  all  as  you  can 
of  Jean  Biassou  himself.  " 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  so  much,  "  replied  Pierrot,  quickly  ; 
"  all  I  ask  is  the  life  and  liberty  of  this  prisoner,  "  and 
he  pointed  to  me. 

For  a  moment  Biassou  appeared  embarrassed,  but  he 
speedily  recovered  himself.  *  Your  servant  is  in  de- 
spair, your  Highness  ;  for  you  ask  of  him,  to  his  great 
regret,  more  than  he  can  grant.  He  is  not  Jean  Bias 
sou's  prisoner,  does  not  belong  to  Jean  Biassou,  and  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Jean  Biassou.  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Pierrot  in  severe  tones, 
"  by  saying  that  he  does  not  belong  to  you  ?  Does  any 
one  else  hold  authority  here  except  you?  " 

"  Alas,  yes,  your  Highness.  " 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  My  army.  * 

The  sly  and  obsequious  manner  in  which  Biassou 
eluded  the  frank  and  haughty  questions  of  Pierrot 
showed,  had  it  depended  solely  upon  himself,  that  he 
would  gladly  have  treated  his  visitor  with  far  less  re- 
spect than  he  felt  himself  now  compelled  to  do. 

"  What  !  "  exclaimed  Pierrot,  "  your  army  !  And  do 
not  you  command  it  ?  " 


150  BUG-JARGAL 

Biassou,  with  every  appearance  of  sincerity.  replieds 
*  Does  your  Highness  really  think  that  we  can  command 
men  who  are  in  insurrection  because  they  will  not 
obey  1  " 

I  cared  too  little  for  my  life  to  break  the  silence 
which  I  had  imposed  upon  myself,  else,  having  seen  the 
day  before  the  despotic  authority  that  Biassou  exercised 
over  his  men,  I  might  have  contradicted  his  assertions, 
and  laid  bare  his  duplicity  to  Pierrot. 

"  Well,  if  you  have  no  authority  over  your  men,  and 
if  they  are  your  masters  what  reason  can  they  have  for 
hating  your  prisoner  ?  " 

"  Bouckmann  has  been  killed  by  the  white  troops,  " 
answered  Biassou,  endeavouring  to  conceal  his  sardonic 
smile  under  a  mask  of  sorrow,  "  and  my  men  are  deter- 
mined to  avenge  upon  this  white  man  the  death  of  the 
chief  of  the  Jamaica  negroes.  They  wish  to  show  trophy 
against  trophy,  and  desire  that  the  head  of  this  young 
officer  should  serve  as  a  counterpoise  to  the  head  of 
Bouckmann  in  the  scales  in  which  the  good  Giu  weighs 
both  parties.  " 

"  Do  you  still  continue  to  carry  on  this  horrible  sys- 
tem of  reprisals  ?  Listen  to  me,  Jean  Biassou  !  it  is 
these  cruelties  that  are  the  ruin  of  our  just  cause. 
Prisoner  as  I  was  in  the  camp  of  the  whites  (from  which 
I  have  managed  to  escape),  I  had  not  heard  of  the  death 
of  Bouckmann  until  you  told  me.  It  is  the  just  punish- 
ment of  Heaven  for  his  crimes.  I  will  tell  you  another 
piece  of  news  :  Jeannot,  the  negro  chief  who  served  as  a 
guide  to  draw  the  white  troops  into  the  ambush  of 
Dompte -Mulâtre,  —  Jeannot  also  is  dead.  You  know 
—  do  not  interrupt  me,  Biassou  1  —  you  know  that  he 
rivalled  you  and  Bouckmann  in  his  atrocities  ;  and  pay 
attention  to  this,  —  it  was  not  the  thunderbolt  of 
Heaven,  nor  the  bullets  of  the  whites,  that  struck  him; 


BUG-JAKGAL.  151 

it  was  Jean  François  himself  who  ordered  this  act  of 
justice  to  be  performed.  " 

Biassou,  who  had  listened  with  an  air  of  gloomy  re- 
spect, uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  At  this 
moment  Eigaud  entered,  bowed  respectfully  to  Pierrot, 
and  whispered  in  Biassou's  ear.  The  murmur  of  many 
voices  was  heard  in  the  camp. 

"  Yes,  "  continued  Pierrot,  "  Jean  François,  who  has 
no  fault  except  a  preposterous  love  of  luxury  and  show  ; 
whose  carriage  with  its  six  horses  takes  him  every  day 
to  hear  Mass  at  the  Grande-Riviere,  —  Jean  François 
himself  has  put  a  stop  to  the  crimes  of  Jeannot.  In 
spite  of  the  cowardly  entreaties  of  the  brigand,  who 
clung  in  despair  to  the  knees  of  the  priest  of  Marmalade 
who  attended  him  in  his  last  moments,  he  was  shot  beneath 
the  very  tree  upon  which  he  used  to  hang  his  living 
victims  upon  iron  hooks.  Think  upon  this,  Biassou. 
Why  these  massacres  which  provoke  the  whites  to  repri- 
sals ?  Why  all  these  juggleries  which  only  tend  to  ex- 
cite the  passions  of  our  unhappy  comrades,  already  too 
much  exasperated  ?  There  is  at  Trou-Coffi  a  mulatto 
impostor,  called  Romaine  the  Prophet,  who  is  in  com- 
mand of  a  fanatical  band  of  negroes  ;  he  profanes  the 
holy  sacrament  of  the  Mass,  he  pretends  that  he  is  in 
direct  communication  with  the  Virgin,  and  he  urges  on 
his  men  to  murder  and  pillage  in  the  name  of  Marie.  " 

There  was  a  more  tender  inflection  in  the  voice  of 
Pierrot  as  he  uttered  this  name  than  even  religious  re- 
spect would  have  warranted,  and  I  felt  annoyed  and 
irritated  at  it. 

"  And  you.  "  continued  he,  "  you  have  in  your  camp 
some  Obi,  I  hear,  —  some  impostor  like  this  Romaine 
the  Prophet.  I  well  know  that  having  to  lead  an  army 
composed  of  so  many  heterogeneous  materials,  a  common 
bond  is  necessary  ;  but  can  it  be  found  nowhere  save  in 


152  BUG-JARGAL. 

ferocious  fanaticism  and  ridiculous  superstition?  Be- 
lieve me,  Biassou,  the  white  men  are  not  so  cruel  as  we 
are.  I  have  seen  many  planters  protect  the  lives  of 
their  slaves.  I  am  not  ignorant  that  in  some  cases  it 
was  not  the  life  of  a  man,  but  a  sum  of  money  that  they 
desired  to  save  ;  but  at  any  rate  their  interest  gave  them 
the  appearance  of  a  virtue.  Do  not  let  us  be  less  mer- 
ciful than  they  are,  for  it  is  not  our  interest  to  be  so. 
Will  our  cause  be  more  holy  and  more  just  because  we 
exterminate  the  women,  slaughter  the  children,  and 
burn  the  colonists  in  their  own  houses  ?  These,  however, 
are  every-day  occurrences.  Answer  me,  Biassou  !  must 
the  traces  of  our  progress  be  always  marked  by  a  line 
of  blood  and  fire  ?  " 

He  ceased.  The  fire  of  his  glance,  the  accent  of  his 
voice,  gave  to  his  words  a  force  of  convictiop  and  au- 
thority which  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  imitate.  Like 
a  fox  in  the  clutches  of  a  lion,  Biassou  seemed  to  seek 
for  some  means  of  escape  from  the  power  that  con- 
strained him. 

While  Biassou  vainly  sought  for  a  pretext,  the  chief 
of  the  negroes  of  Cayer,  Bigaud,  who  the  evening  before 
had  calmly  watched  the  horrors  that  had  been  perpetrated 
in  his  presence,  seemed  to  be  shocked  at  the  picture 
that  Pierrot  had  drawn,  and  exclaimed  with  a  hypocritical 
affectation  of  grief,  "  Great  heavens  !  how  terrible  is  a 
Dation  when  roused  to  fury  !  " 


CHAPTEK  XL. 

THE  confusion  in  the  camp  appeared  to  increase,  to 
the  great  uneasiness  of  Biassou.  I  heard  after- 
wards that  it  was  caused  by  the  negroes  of  Morne- 
Bouge,  who  hurried  from  one  end  of  the  camp  to  the 
other,  announcing  the  return  of  my  liberator,  and  de- 
claring their  intention  of  supporting  him  in  whatever 
object  he  had  come  to  Biassou's  camp  for.  Bigaud  had 
informed  the  generalissimo  of  this,  and  it  was  the  fear 
of  a  fatal  division  in  the  camp  that  prompted  Biassou  to 
make  some  sort  of  concession  to  the  wishes  of  Pierrot. 

"  Your  Highness,  "  remarked  he,  with  an  air  of  in- 
jured innocence,  "  if  we  are  hard  on  the  whites,  you  are 
equally  severe  upon  us.  You  are  wrong  in  accusing 
us  of  being  the  cause  of  the  torrent,  for  it  is  the  torrent 
that  drags  us  away  with  it.  But  what  can  I  do  at  pres- 
ent that  will  please  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  Senor  Biassou,  "  answered 
Pierrot  ;  "  let  me  take  this  prisoner  away  with  me.  " 

Biassou  remained  for  a  few  moments  silent,  as  though 
in  deep  thought;  then  putting  on  an  expression  of  as 
great  frankness  as  he  was  able,  he  answered,  "  Your 
Highness,  I  wish  to  prove  to  you  that  I  have  every  desire 
to  please  you.  Permit  me  to  have  two  words  in  private 
with  the  prisoner,  and  he  shall  be  free  to  follow  you.  " 

"  If  that  is  all  you  ask,  I  agree,  "  replied  Pierrot. 

His  eyes,  which  up  to  that  moment  had  wandered 
about  in  a  distrustful  manner,  glistened  with  delight, 


154  BUG^JARGAL. 

and  he  moved  away  a  few  paces  to  leave  us  to  our 
conversation. 

Biassou  drew  me  on  one  side  into  a  retired  part  of  the 
cavern,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  can  only  spare  your 
life  upon  the  condition  that  I  proposed  ;  are  you  ready 
to  fulfil  it  ?  " 

He  showed  me  the  dispatch  of  Jean  François  ;  to  con- 
sent appeared  to  me  too  humiliating. 

"  Never  !  "  answered  I,  firmly. 

"  Aha  !  "  repeated  he,  with  his  sardonic  chuckle,  "  are 
you  always  as  firm  ?  You  have  great  confidence,  then, 
in  your  protector.     Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  I  do,  "  answered  I,  quickly.  "  He  is  a  monster,  as 
you  are  ;  only  he  is  a  greater  hypocrite.  " 

He  started  back  in  astonishment,  seeking  to  read  in 
my  glance  if  I  spoke  seriously.  "What!"  exclaimed 
he,   "  do  you  not  know  him  then  ?  " 

With  a  disdainful  look,  I  replied  :  "  I  only  know  him 
as  my  uncle's  slave  ;  and  his  name  is  Pierrot.  " 

Again  Biassou  smiled  bitterly.  "Aha,  that  indeed  is 
strange  :  he  asks  for  your  life  and  liberty,  and  you  say 
that  you  only  know  him  for  a  monster  like  myself.  " 

"  What  matters  that  ?"  I  answered  ;  "  if  I  do  gain  a 
little  liberty,  it  is  not  to  save  my  own  life,  but  to  take 
his." 

"  What  is  that  you  are  saying  ?  "  asked  Biassou. 
"  And  yet  you  seem  to  speak  as  you  believe  ;  I  cannot 
think  that  you  would  trifle  with  your  life.  There  is 
something  beneath  all  this  that  I  do  not  understand. 
You  are  protected •  by  a  man  that  you  hate;  he  insists 
upon  your  life  being  spared,  and  you  are  longing  to  take 
his  !  But  it  matters  little  to  me  ;  you  desire  a  short 
spell  of  freedom,  —  it  is  all  that  I  can  give  you.  I  will 
leave  you  free  to  follow  him  ;  but  swear  to  me,  by  your 
honour,    that   you  will   return  to  me  and  reconstitute 


BXJG-JARGAL.  155 

yourself  my  prisoner  two  hours  before  the  sun  sets. 
You  are  a  Frenchman,  and  I  will  trust  you.  " 

What  shall  I  say  gentlemen  ?  Life  was  a  burden  to 
me,  and  I  hated  the  idea  of  owing  it  to  Pierrot,  for 
every  circumstance  pointed  him  out  as  a  just  object  of 
my  hatred.  I  could  not  think  for  a  moment  that  Bias- 
sou  (who  did  not  easily  permit  his  prey  to  escape  him) 
would  allow  me  to  go  free  except  upon  his  own  condi- 
tions. All  I  desired  was  a  few  hours'  liberty  which  I 
could  devote  to  discovering  the  fate  of  my  beloved  be- 
fore my  death.  Biassou,  relying  upon  my  honour  as  a 
Frenchman,  would  grant  me  these,  and  without  hesita- 
tion I  pledged  it. 

"  Your  Highness,  "  said  Biassou,  in  obsequious  tones, 
"  the  white  prisoner  is  at  your  disposal  ;  you  can  take 
him  with  you,  for  he  is  free  to  accompany  you  wherever 
you  wish.  " 

"  Thanks,  Biassou,  "  cried  Pierrot,  extending  his  hand. 
"  You  have  rendered  me  a  service  which  places  me  en- 
tirely at  your  disposal.  Eemain  in  command  of  our 
brethren  of  Morne-Rouge  until  my  return.  " 

Then  he  turned  towards  me,  I  never  saw  so  much 
happiness  in  his  eyes  before.  "  Since  you  are  free,  " 
cried  he,  "  come  with  me.  "  And  with  a  strange  earnest- 
ness he  drew  me  away  with  him. 

Biassou  looked  after  us  with  blank  astonishment, 
which  was  even  perceptible  through  the  respectful  leave 
that  he  took  of  my  companion. 


CHAPTEK  XL! 

I  WAS  longing  to  be  alone  with  Pierrot.  His  embar- 
rassment when  I  had  questioned  him  as  to  the  fate 
of  Marie,  the  ill-concealed  tenderness  with  which  he 
had  dared  to  pronounce  her  name,  had  made  those  feel- 
ings of  hatred  and  jealousy  which  had  sprung  up  in  my 
heart  take  far  deeper  root  than  at  the  time  I  saw  him 
bearing  away  through  the  flames  of  Fort  Galifet  her 
whom  I  could  scarcely  call  my  wife.  What  did  I  care 
for  the  generous  indignation  with  which  he  had  reproved 
the  cruelties  of  Biassou,  the  trouble  which  he  had  taken 
to  preserve  my  life,  and  the  curious  manner  which 
marked  all  his  words  and  actions  ?  What  cared  I  for 
the  mystery  that  appeared  to  envelop  him,  which 
brought  him  living  before  my  eyes  when  I  thought  to 
have  witnessed  his  death  ?  He  proved  to  be  a  prisoner 
of  the  white  troops  when  I  believed  that  he  lay  buried 
in  the  depths  of  Grande-Biviere,  —  the  slave  become  a 
king,  the  prisoner  a  liberator.  Of  all  these  incompre- 
hensible things  one  was  clear,  —  Marie  had  been  carried 
off  by  him;  and  I  had  this  crime  to  punish,  this  out- 
rage to  avenge.  However  strange  were  the  events  that 
had  passed  under  my  eyes,  they  were  not  sufficient  to 
shake  my  determination,  and  I  had  waited  with  impa- 
tience for  the  moment  when  I  could  compel  my  rival  to 
explain  all.      That  moment  had  at  last  arrived. 

We  had  passed  through  crowds  of  negroes,  who  cast 
themselves  on  the  ground  as  we  pursued  our  way,  ex- 


BUG-JARGAL.  157 

claiming  in  tones  of  surprise,  "  Miraculo  !  ya  no  esta 
prisonero  I  "  ("  A  miracle  !  he  is  no  longer  a  prisoner  !  ")  ; 
but  whether  they  referred  to  Pierrot  or  to  myself  1 
neither  knew  nor  cared.  We  had  gained  the  outskirts 
of  the  camp,  and  rocks  and  trees  concealed  from  our 
view  the  outposts  of  Biassou  ;  Eask  in  high  good  humour 
was  running  in  front  of  us,  and  Pierrot  was  following 
him  with  rapid  strides,  when  I  stopped  him. 

"  Listen  to  me  !  "  cried  I  ;  "it  is  useless  to  go  any 
farther  :  the  ears  that  you  dreaded  can  no  longer  listen 
to  us.  What  have  you  done  with  Marie  ?  Tell  me 
that  !  " 

Concentrated  emotion  made  my  voice  tremble.  He 
gazed  upon  me  kindly. 

"  Always  the  same  question  !  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,  always,  "  returned  I,  furiously  ;  "  always  !  I 
will  put  that  question  to  you  as  you  draw  your  last 
breath,  or  as  I  utter  my  last  sigh.      Where  is  Marie  ?  " 

"  Can  nothing,  then,  drive  away  your  doubts  of  my 
loyalty  ?     But  you  shall  know  all  soon.  " 

"  Soon,  monster  !  "  repeated  I,  il  soon  !  it  is  now,  at 
this  instant,  that  I  want  to  know  all.  Where  is  Marie  ? 
Where  is  Marie  ?  Answer,  or  stake  your  life  against 
mine.     Defend  yourself  !  " 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  "  answered  he,  sadly,  "  that 
that  is  impossible  ;  the  stream  will  not  struggle  against 
its  source, — and  my  life,  which  you  have  three  times 
saved,  cannot  contend  against  yours.  Besides,  even  if 
I  wished  it,  the  thing  is  impossible  ;  we  have  but  one 
dagger  between  us.  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  the  weapon  from  his  girdle  and 
offered  it  to  me.      "  Take  it,  "  said  he. 

I  was  beside  myself  with  passion.  I  seized  the  dagger 
and  placed  the  point  on  his  breast  ;  he  never  attempted 
to  move. 


158  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  Wretch  !  "  cried  I,  "  do  not  force  me  to  murder  you. 
I  will  plunge  this  blade  into  your  heart  if  you  do  not  at 
once  tell  me  where  my  wife  is  !  " 

He  replied  in  his  calm  way  :  "  You  are  the  master  to 
do  as  you  like  ;  but  with  clasped  hands  I  implore  you 
to  grant  me  one  hour  of  life,  and  to  follow  me.  Can 
you  doubt  him  who  thrice  has  owed  his  life  to  you,  and 
whom  you  once  called  brother  ?  Listen  :  if  in  one  hour 
from  this  time  you  still  doubt  me,  you  shall  be  at  per- 
fect liberty  to  kill  me.  That  will  be  time  enough  ;  you 
see  that  I  do  not  attempt  to  resist  you.  I  conjure  you 
in  the  name  of  Marie, —  of  your  wife,  "  he  added  slowly, 
as  though  the  victim  of  some  painful  recollection,  — 
"  give  me  but  another  hour,  I  beg  of  you,  not  for  my 
sake,  but  for  yours.  " 

There  was  so  much  pathos  in  his  entreaties  that  an 
inner  feeling  wTarned  me  to  grant  his  request,  and  I 
yielded  to  that  secret  ascendency  which  he  exercised 
over  me,  but  which  at  that  time  I  should  have  blushed 
to  confess. 

"  Well,  "  said  I,  slowly,  "  I  will  grant  you  one  hour, 
and  I  am  ready  to  follow  you  ;  "  and  as  I  spoke  I  handed 
him  his  dagger. 

"  No,  "  answered  he,  "  keep  it  ;  you  still  distrust  me, 
but  let  us  lose  no  time.  " 


CHAPTEE   XLII. 

AGAIN  we  started.  Bask,  who  during  our  conversa- 
tion had  shown  frequent  signs  of  impatience  to 
renew  his  journey,  bounded  joyously  before  us.  We 
plunged  into  a  virgin  forest,  and  after  half  an  hour's 
walking  came  out  on  a  grassy  opening  in  the  wood.  On 
one  side  was  a  waterfall  dashing  over  rugged  rocks, 
while  the  primeval  trees  of  the  forest  surrounded  it  on 
all  sides.  Among  the  rocks  was  a  cave,  the  grey  face 
of  which  was  shrouded  by  a  mass  of  climbing  plants. 
Eask  ran  towards  it  barking  ;  but  at  a  sign  from  Pierrot 
he  became  silent,  and  the  latter  taking  me  by  the  hand 
led  me  without  a  word  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave. 

A  woman  with  her  back  towards  the  light  was  seated 
on  a  mat  ;  at  the  sound  of  our  steps  she  turned.  My 
friends,  it  was  Marie  !  She  wore  the  same  white  dress 
which  she  had  worn  on  the  day  of  our  marriage,  and 
the  wreath  of  orange  blossoms  was  still  on  her  head. 
She  recognized  me  in  a  moment,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy 
threw  herself  into  my  arms.  I  was  speechless  with 
surprise  and  emotion.  At  her  cry  an  old  woman  carry- 
ing a  child  in  her  arms  hurried  from  an  inner  chamber 
formed  in  the  depth  of  the  cave;  she  was  Marie's  nurse, 
and  she  carried  my  uncle's  youngest  child. 

Pierrot  hastened  to  bring  some  water  from  the  neigh- 
bouring spring,  and  threw  a  few  drops  in  Marie's  face; 
who  was  overcome  by  emotion  ;  she  speedily  recovered, 
and  opening  her  eyes  exclaimed,  — 

"  Leopold  !    my  Leopold  !  " 


1G0  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  Marie  !  "  cried  I*,  and  my  words  were  stifled  in  a 
kiss. 

"Not  before  me,  for  pity's  sake!"  crisd  a  voice,  in 
accents  of  agony. 

We  looked  round,  it  came  from  Pierrot  The  sight  of 
our  endearments  appeared  to  inflict  temble  torture  on 
him  ;  his  bosom  heaved,  a  cold  perspiration  bedewed  his 
forehead,  and  every  limb  quivered.  sSuddenly  he  hid 
his  face  in  his  hands  and  fled  from  the  grotto,  repeating 
in  tones  of  anguish,  — 

"  Not  before  me  3    not  before  me  I  " 

Marie  half  raised  herself  in  my  arms,  and  following 
his  retreating  form  with  her  eyes,  exclaimed,  "  Leopold, 
our  happiness  seems  to  trouble  him  ;  can  it  be  that  he 
loves  me  ?  " 

The  exclamation  of  the  slave  had  shown  that  he  was 
my  rival,  but  Marie's  speech  proved  that  he  was  my 
trusty  friend. 

"  Marie,  "  answered  I,  as  the  wildest  happiness  min- 
gled with  the  deepest  regret  filled  my  heart,  "  Marie, 
were  you  ignorant  of  it  ?  " 

"  Until  this  moment  I  was,  "  answered  she,  a  blush 
overspreading  her  beautiful  features.  "  Does  he  really 
love  me,  for  he  never  let  me  know  it  ?  " 

I  clasped  her  to  my  bosom,  in  all  the  madness  of  hap- 
piness. "  I  have  recovered  both  wife  and  friend  '  How 
happy  am  I,  but  how  guilty,  for  I  doubted  him  !  " 

"  What  !  "  cried  Marie,  in  surprise,  "  had  you  doubts  of 
Pierrot  ?  Oh,  you  have  indeed  been  in  fault.  Twice  has 
he  saved  my  life,  and  perhaps  more  than  life,  "  she  added, 
casting  down  her  eyes.  "  Without  him  the  alligator 
would  have  devoured  me  ;  without  him  the  negroes  — 
It  was  Pierrot  who  rescued  me  from  their  hands 
when  they  were  about  to  send  me  to  rejoin  my  unhappy 
father." 


BUG-JARGAL.  161 

She  broke  off  her  speech  with  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  And  why,  "  asked  I,  "  did  not  Pierrot  send  you  to 
Cap,  to  your  husband  ?  " 

"  He  tried  to  do  so,  "  replied  she,  "  but  it  was  impos- 
sible. Compelled  as  he  was  to  conceal  me  both  from 
the  whites  and  the  blacks,  his  position  was  a  most  diffi- 
cult one;  and  then,  too,  he  was  ignorant  where  you 
were.  Some  said  that  they  had  seen  you  killed,  but 
Pierrot  assured  me  that  this  was  not  the  case  ;  and  a 
something  convinced  me  that  he  spoke  the  truth,  for  I 
felt  that  had  you  been  dead  I  should  have  died  at  the 
same  time.  " 

"  Then,  Pierrot  brought  you  here  ?  "  asked  I. 

"  Yes,  my  Leopold  ;  this  solitary  cave  is  known  only 
to  him.  At  the  same  time  that  he  rescued  me,  he  saved 
all  that  remained  alive  of  our  family,  my  little  brother 
and  my  old  nurse, —  and  hid  us  here.  The  place  is  very 
nice,  and  now  that  the  war  has  destroyed  our  house  and 
ruined  us,  I  should  like  to  live  here  with  you.  Pierrot 
supplied  all  our  wants.  He  used  to  come  very  often; 
he  wore  a  plume  of  red  feathers  on  his  head.  He  used 
to  console  me  by  talking  of  you,  and  always  assured  me 
that  we  should  meet  again  ;  but  for  the  past  three  days 
I  have  not  seen  him,  and  I  was  beginning  to  be  uneasy, 
when  to-day  he  came  back  with  you.  He  had  been 
seeking  for  vou,  had  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  "  replied  I. 

"  But  if  so,  how  can  he  be  in  love  with  me  ?  Are  you 
sure  of  it  ?  " 

"  Quite,  "  answered  I.  "  It  was  he  who  was  about  to 
stab  me  beneath  your  window,  and  spared  me  lest  it 
should  afflict  you  ;  it  was  he  who  sang  the  love  songs  at 
the  pavilion  by  the  river.  " 

"  Then  he  is  your  rival,  "  exclaimed  Marie,  with  naïve 
surprise  ;  "  and  the  wicked  man  with  the  wild  marigolds 


162  BUG-JARGAL. 

is  Pierrot  !  I  can  hardly  believe  that  :  he  was  so  re- 
spectful and  humble  to  me,  much  more  so  than  when  he 
was  our  slave.  It  is  true  that  sometimes  he  looked  at 
me  in  a  strange  manner,  but  I  attributed  his  sadness  to 
our  misfortunes.  If  you  could  only  know  with  what 
tenderness  he  spoke  of  you,  my  Leopold  !  His  friend- 
ship made  him  speak  of  you  as  much  as  my  love  did.  " 

These  explanations  of  Marie  enchanted  and  yet  grieved 
me.  I  felt  how  cruelly  I  had  treated  the  noble-hearted 
Pierrot,  and  I  felt  all  the  force  of  his  gentle  reproach, 
"  It  is  not  I  who  am  ungrateful.  " 

At  this  instant  Pierrot  returned.  His  face  was  dark 
and  gloomy,  and  he  looked  like  a  martyr  returning  from 
the  place  of  torture,  but  yet  retaining  an  air  of  tri- 
umph. He  came  towards  me,  and  pointing  to  the  dag- 
ger in,  my  belt  said,  "  The  hour  has  passed  !  " 

"  Hour  !  what  hour  ?  "  asked  I. 

"  The  one  you  granted  me  ;  it  was  necessary  for  me  to 
have  so  much  time  allowed  me  in  which  to  bring  you  here. 
Then  I  conjured  you  to  spare  my  life  ;  now  I  supplicate 
you  to  take  it  away.  " 

The  most  tender  feelings  of  the  heart  —  love,  grati- 
tude and  friendship  —  united  themselves  together  to 
torture  me.  Unable  to  say  a  word,  but  sobbing  bitterly, 
I  cast  myself  at  the  feet  of  the  slave.  He  raised  me  up 
in  haste. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  cried  he. 

"  I  pay  you  the  homage  that  is  your  due  ;  but  I  am 
no  longer  worthy  of  friendship  such  as  yours.  Can 
your  friendship  be  pushed  so  far  as  to  forgive  me  my 
ingratitude  ?  " 

For  a  time  his  expression  remained  stern  ;  he  appeared 
to  be  undergoing  a  violent  mental  contest.  He  took  a 
step  towards  me,  then  drew  back,  and  seemed  on  the 
point  of  speaking  ;  but  no  words  passed  his  lips.     The 


BUG-JARGAL.  163 

struggle  was  a  short  one,  he  opened  his  arms  to  embrace 
me,  saying,  — 

"  May  I  now  call  you  brother  ?  " 

My  only  reply  was  to  cast  myself  on  his  breast. 
After  a  short  pause  he  added,  — 

"  You  were  always  kind,  but  misfortune  had  rendered 
you  unjust.  " 

"  I  have  found  my  brother  once  again,  "  said  I.  "  I 
am  unfortunate  no  longer,  but  I  have  been  very  guilty.  " 

"  Guilty,  brother  ?  I  also  have  been  guilty,  and  more 
so  than  you  ;  you  are  no  longer  unhappy,  but  I  shall  be 
so  forever  !  " 


CHAPTEE   XLIII. 

f  I  "'HE  expression  of  pleasure  which  the  renewal  of  our 

-*-  friendship  had  traced  on  his  features  faded  away, 
and  an  appearance  of  deep  grief  once  more  pervaded 
them. 

"  Listen,  "  said  he  coldly.  "  My  father  was  the  King 
of  Kakongo.  Each  day  he  sat  at  the  door  of  his  hut  and 
dispensed  justice  among  his  subjects.  After  every  judg- 
ment, according  to  the  custom  of  the  kings  his  ancestors, 
he  drank  a  full  goblet  of  palm  wine.  We  were  happy 
and  powerful.  But  the  Europeans  came  to  our  country  ; 
it  was  from  them  that  I  learned  the  accomplishments 
which  you  appeared  to  be  surprised  at  my  possessing. 
Our  principal  acquaintance  among  the  Europeans  was  a 
Spanish  captain  ;  he  promised  my  father  territories  far 
greater  than  those  he  now  ruled  over,  treasure,  and 
white  women.  My  father  believed  him,  and  gathering 
his  family  together,  followed  him.  Brother,  he  sold  us 
as  slaves  !  " 

The  breast  of  the  negro  rose  and  fell,  as  he  strove  to 
restrain  himself  ;  his  eyes  shot  forth  sparks  of  fire  ;  and 
without  seeming  to  know  what  he  did,  he  broke  in  his 
powerful  grasp  a  fancy  medlar-tree  that  stood  beside 
him. 

*  The  master  of  Kakongo  in  his  turn  had  a  master, 
and  his  son  toiled  as  a  slave  in  the  furrows  of  St.  Do- 
mingo. They  tore  the  young  lion  from  his  father  that 
they  might  the  more  easily  tame  him  ;  they   separated 


BUG-JARGAL.  165 

the  wife  from  the  husband,  and  the  little  children  from 
the  mother  who  nursed  them,  and  from  the  father  who 
used  to  bathe  them  in  the  torrents  of  their  native  land. 
In  their  place  they  found  cruel  masters  and  a  sleeping 
place  shared  with  the  dogs  !  " 

He  was  silent,  though  his  lips  moved  as  though  he 
were  still  continuing  his  narrative;  after  a  moment's 
pause  he  seized  me  roughly  by  the  arm,  and  continued  : 
*  Brother,  do  you  understand  ?  I  have  been  sold  to 
different  masters  like  a  beast  of  burden.  Do  you  re- 
member the  punishment  of  Ogé  ?  It  was  on  that  day 
that  I  saw  my  father  after  a  long  separation  :  he  was  on 
the  wheel  !  " 

I  shuddered  ;  he  went  on  :  — 

"  My  wife  was  outraged  by  white  men,  and  she  died 
calling  for  revenge.  I  must  tell  you  I  was  guilty 
towards  her,  for  I  loved  another  ;  but  let  that  pass  by. 
All  my  people  urged  me  to  deliver  and  avenge  them; 
Eask  brought  me  their  messages.  I  could  do  nothing 
for  them,  I  was  fast  in  your  uncle's  prison.  The  day 
upon  which  you  obtained  my  release,  I  hurried  off  to 
save  my  children  from  the  power  of  a  cruel  master. 
Upon  the  very  day  that  I  arrived,  the  last  of  the  grand- 
children of  the  King  of  Kakongo  had  expired  under 
the  blows  of  the  white  man  ;  he  had  followed  the 
others  !  " 

He  interrupted  his  recital,  and  coldly  asked  me: 
"  Brother,   what  would  you  have  done  ?  " 

This  frightful  tale  froze  me  with  horror.  I  replied 
by  a  threatening  gesture.  He  understood  me,  and  with 
a  bitter  smile  he  continued  :  — 

"  The  slaves  rose  against  their  master,  and  punished 
the  murder  of  my  children.  They  chose  me  for  their 
chief.  You  know  the  frightful  excesses  that  were  per- 
petrated by  the  insurgents.      I  heard  that  your  uncle's 


166  BUG-JARGAL. 

slaves  were  on  the  point  of  rising.  I  arrived  at  Acul  on 
the  night  upon  which  the  insurrection  broke  out.  You 
were  away.  Your  uncle  had  been  murdered  in  his  bed, 
and  the  negroes  had  already  set  fire  to  the  plantation. 
Not  being  able  to  restrain  them  (for  in  destroying  your 
uncle's  property  they  thought  that  they  were  avenging 
my  injuries),  I  determined  to  save  the  survivors  of  his 
family.  I  entered  the  fort  by  the  breach  that  I  had 
made.  I  intrusted  your  wife's  nurse  to  a  faithful  negro. 
I  had  more  trouble  in  saving  your  ]\tarie  ;  she  had  hur- 
ried to  the  burning  portion  of  the  fort  to  save  the  young- 
est of  her  brothers,  the  sole  survivor  of  the  massacre. 
The  insurgents  surrounded  her,  and  were  about  to  kill 
her.  I  burst  upon  them,  and  ordered  them  to  leave  her 
to  my  vengeance  ;  they  obeyed  me,  and  retired.  I  took 
your  wife  in  my  arms  ;  I  intrusted  the  child  to  Eask,  — 
and  I  bore  them  both  away  to  this  cavern,  of  which  I 
alone  knew  the  existence  and  the  access.  Brother,  such 
was  my  crime  !  " 

More  than  ever  overwhelmed  with  gratitude  and 
remorse,  I  would  again  have  thrown  myself  at  his  feet, 
but  he  stopped  me. 

"  Come,  "  said  he,  "  take  your  wife  and  let  us  leave 
this,  all  of  us.  " 

In  wonder  I  asked  him  whither  he  wished  to  conduct 
us. 

"  To  the  camp  of  the  whites,  "  answered  he.  "  This 
retreat  is  no  longer  safe.  To-morrow  at  break  of  day 
the  camp  of  Biassou  will  be  attacked,  and  the  forest 
will  assuredly  be  set  on  fire.  Besides,  I  have  no  time 
to  lose.  Ten  lives  are  in  jeopardy  until  my  return. 
We  can  hasten  because  you  are  free;  we  must  hasten 
because  I  am  not.  " 

These  words  increased  my  surprise,  and  I  pressed  him 
for  an  explanation. 


BUG-JARGAL.  167 

"  Have  you  not  heard  that  Bug- Jargal  is  a  prisoner  ? K 

replied  he,  impatiently. 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  has  Bug-Jargal  to  do  with  you  ?  " 
In  his  turn  he  seemed  astonished,  and  then  in  a  grav^ 

voice  he  answered  :  "  I  am  Buq-Jaraal.  " 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

I  H  AD  thought  that  rothing  that  related  to  this  extra- 
ordinary man  could  have  surprised  me.  I  h*ad  expe- 
rienced some  feelings  of  astonishment  in  ending  the 
slave  Pierrot  transformed  into  an  African  king  ;  but  my 
admiration  reached  its  height  when  from  his  own  confes- 
sion I  learned  that  he  was  the  courageous  and  magnani- 
mous Bug-Jargal,  the  chief  of  the  insurgents  of  Morne- 
Eouge  ;  and  I  now  understood  the  respectful  demeanour 
shown  by  all  the  rebels,  even  by  Biassou,  to  Bug-Jargal, 
the  King  of  Kakongo.  He  did  not  notice  the  impres- 
sion that  his  last  words  had  made  upon  me. 

"  They  told  me,  "  continued  he,  "  that  you  were  a 
prisoner  in  Biassou 's  camp,  and  I  hastened  to  deliver 
you.  " 

"  But  you  told  me  just  now  that  you  too  were  a 
prisoner.  " 

He  glanced  inquisitively  at  me,  as  though  seeking 
my  reason  for  putting  this  natural  question.  "  Listen,  " 
answered  he.  "  This  morning  I  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  your  friends  ;  but  I  heard  a  report  that  Biassou 
had  announced  his  intention  of  executing,  before  sunset 
to-day,  a  young  prisoner  named  Leopold  d'Auverney. 
They  doubled  my  guards,  and  I  was  informed  that  my 
execution  would  immediately  follow  yours,  and  that  in 
the  event  of  escape  ten  of  my  comrades  would  suffer  in 
my  stead.      So  you  see  that  I  have  no  time  to  lose.  " 

I  still  detained  him.  "  You  made  your  escape  then  ?  " 
asked  I. 


BUG-JARGAL.  169 

u  How  else  could  I  have  been  here  ?  It  was  necessary 
to  save  you.  Did  I  not  owe  you  my  life  ?  Come,  let 
us  set  out  ;  we  are  an  hour's  march  from  the  camp  of 
the  whites,  and  about  the  same  distance  from  that  of 
Biassou.  See,  the  shadows  oi  the  cocoanut-trees  are 
lengthening,  and  their  round  tops  look  on  the  pass  like 
the  egg  of  the  giant  condor.  In  three  hours  the  sun 
will  have  set.     Come,  brother,  time  waits  for  no  man.  " 

In  three  hours  the  sun  will  have  set  !  These  words 
froze  my  blood,  like  an  apparition  from  the  tomb.  They 
recalled  to  my  mind  the  fatal  promise  which  bound  me 
to  Biassou.  Alas  !  in  the  rapture  of  seeing  Marie  again, 
I  had  not  thought  of  our  approaching  eternal  separation. 
I  had  been  overwhelmed  with  my  happiness  ;  a  flood  of 
joyful  emotions  had  swept  away  my  memory,  and  in 
the  midst  of  my  delight  I  had  forgotten  that  the  inexo- 
rable finger  of  death  was  beckoning  to  me.  But  the  words 
of  my  friend  recalled  everything  to  my  mind.  In  three 
hours  the  sun  will  have  set  !  It  would  take  an  hour  to 
reach  Biassou 's  camp.  There  could  be  no  faltering  with 
my  duty.  The  villain  had  my  word,  and  it  would  never 
do  to  give  him  the  chance  of  despising  what  he  seemed 
still  to  put  trust  in, —  the  word  of  a  Frenchman  ;  better 
far  to  die.  The  alternative  was  a  terrible  one,  and  I 
confess  that  I  hesitated  for  a  moment  before  I  chose  the 
right  course.     Can  you  blame  me,  gentlemen  ? 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

WITH  a  deep  sigh,  I  placed  one  hand  in  that  of 
Bug-Jargal,  and  the  other  in  that  of  Marie,  who 
gazed  with  anxiety  on  the  sadness  that  had  overspread 
my  features. 

"  Bug-Jargal,  "  said  I,  struggling  with  emotion,  "  I 
intrust  to  you  the  only  being  in  the  world  that  I  love 
more  than  you, —  my  Marie.  Return  to  the  camp  with- 
out me,  for  I  may  not  follow  you.  " 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Marie,  hardly  able  to 
breathe  from  her  terror  and  anxiety,  "  what  new  misfor- 
tune is  this  ?  " 

Bug-Jargal  trembled,  and  a  look  of  mingled  sorrow 
and  surprise  passed  over  his  face.  "  Brother,  what  is 
this  that  you  say  ?  " 

The  terror  that  had  seized  upon  Marie  at  the  thought 
of  the  coming  misfortune,  which  her  love  for  me  had 
almost  caused  her  to  divine,  made  me  determine  to 
spare  her  the  dreadful  truth  for  the  moment.  I  placed 
my  mouth  to  Bug-Jargal's  ear,  and  whispered  in  hurried 
accents  :  "  I  am  a  prisoner.  I  swore  to  Biassou  that  two 
hours  before  sunset  I  would  once  more  place  myself  in 
his  hands;  in  fact,  I  have  sworn  to  return  to  my 
death  !  " 

Filled  with  rage,  in  a  loud  voice  he  exclaimed  :  "  The 
monster  !  This  then  was  his  motive  for  a  secret  inter- 
view with  you  :  it  was  to  bind  you  with  this  fatal  prom- 
ise.    I  ought  to  have  distrusted  the  wretch.     Why  did 


BUG-JARGAL.  171 

I  not  foresee  that  there  must  be  some  treachery  lurking 
in  the  request,  for  he  is  a  mulatto,  not  a  black.  " 

"  What  is  this  —  what  treachery  —  what  promise  ?  " 
said  Marie  in  an  agony  of  terror.  "  And  who  is 
Biassou  ?  " 

"  Silence,  silence,  "  repeated  I,  in  a  low  voice  to  Bug- 
Jargal  ;  "  do  not  let  us  alarm  Marie.  " 

"  Good,  "  answered  he  ;  "  but  why  did  you  give  such  a 
pledge, —  how  could  you  consent  ?  " 

"  I  thought  that  you  had  deceived  me,  and  that  Marie 
was  lost  to  me  forever.      What  was  life  to  me  then  ?  " 

"  But  a  simple  promise  cannot  bind  you  to  a  brigand 
like  that.  " 

"  I  gave  my  word  of  honour.  " 

He  did  not  seem  to  understand  me.  "  Your  word  of 
honour,  "  repeated  he  ;  ;'  but  what  is  that  ?  You  did  not 
drink  out  of  the  same  cup  ;  you  have  not  broken  a  ring 
together,  or  a  branch  of  the  red-blossomed  maple  ?  " 

"  No,  we  have  done  none  of  these  things.  " 

"  Well,  then,  what  binds  you  to  him  ?  " 

"  My  honour  !  " 

"  I  cannot  understand  you  ;  nothing  pledges  you  to 
Biassou  ;  come  with  us  !  " 

"  I  cannot,  my  brother,  for  I  am  bound  by  my 
promise.  " 

"  No,  you  are  not  bound,  "  cried  he,  angrily.  "  Sister, 
add  your  prayers  to  mine,  and  entreat  your  husband  not 
to  leave  you.  He  wishes  to  return  to  the  negro  camp 
from  which  I  rescued  him,  on  the  plea  that  he  has 
promised  to  place  his  life  in  Biassou 's  hands.  " 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  cried  I. 

It  was  too  late  to  stay  the  effects  of  the  generous  im- 
pulse that  had  prompted  him  to  endeavour  to  save  the 
life  of  his  rival  by  the  help  of  her  he  loved.  Marie  cast 
herself  into  my  arms  with  a  cry  of  anguish,  her  hands 


172  BUG-JAKGAL. 

clasped  my  neck,  and  she  hung  upon  my  breast  speech- 
less and  breathless. 

8  Oh,  my  Leopold,  what  does  he  say  ?  "  murmured 
she,  at  last.  "  Is  he  not  deceiving  me  ?  It  is  not  im- 
mediately after  our  reunion  that  you  must  quit  me  again. 
Answer  me  quickly,  or  I  shall  die.  You  have  no  right 
to  throw  away  your  life,  for  you  have  given  it  to  me. 
You  would  not  leave  me,  never  to  see  me  again  ?  " 

"  Marie,  "  answered  I,  "  we  shall  meet  again,  but  it 
will  be  in  another  place.  " 

"  In  another  place  !  Where  ?  "  she  asked,  in  faltering 
accents. 

K  In  heaven,  "  I  answered  ;  for  to  this  angel  I  could 
not  lie. 

Again  she  fainted,  but  this  time  it  was  from  grief. 
I  raised  her  up,  and  placed  her  in  the  arms  of  Bug- 
Jargal,  whose  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Nothing  can  keep  you  back,  then,  "  said  he.  "  I 
will  add  nothing  to  my  entreaties  ;  this  sight  ought  to 
be  enough.  How  can  you  resist  Marie  ?  For  one  word 
such  as  she  has  spoken  to  you  I  would  have  sacrificed 
the  world;  and  you  cannot  even  give  up  death  for 
her'." 

"  Honour  binds  me,  "  answered  I,  sadly.  "  Farewell, 
Bug-Jargal  !    farewell,  brother  !    I  leave  her  to  you.  " 

He  grasped  my  hand,  overwhelmed  with  grief,  and 
appeared  hardly  to  understand  me.  "  Brother,  "  said  he, 
"  in  the  camp  of  the  whites  there  are  some  of  your  rela- 
tives ;  I  will  give  her  over  to  them.  For  my  part,  I 
cannot  accept  your  legacy.  " 

He  pointed  to  a  rocky  crag  which  towered  high  above 
the  adjacent  country.  "  Do  you  see  that  rock  ?  "  asked 
he  ;  *  when  the  signal  of  your  death  shall  float  from  it, 
it  will  promptly  be  answered  by  the  volley  that  an- 
nounces mine.  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  173 

Hardly  understanding  his  last  words,  I  embraced  him, 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  pale  lips  of  Marie,  who  was 
slowly  recovering  under  the  attentions  of  her  nurse,  and 
fled  precipitately,  fearing  that  another  look  or  word 
would  shake  my  resolution. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

I  RUSHED  headlong,  and  plunged  into  the  depths  of 
the  forest,  following  the  tracks  that  we  had  left  but 
a  short  time  before,  not  daring  to  cast  a  last  glance  be- 
hind me.  To  stifle  the  grief  which  oppressed  my  heart, 
I  dashed,  without  a  moment's  pause,  through  the 
thickets,  past  hill  and  plain,  until  I  reached  the  crest 
of  a  rock  from  which  I  could  see  the  camp  of  Biassou, 
with  its  lines  of  wagons  and  huts  swarming  with  life, 
and  looking  in  the  distance  like  a  vast  ant-hill.  Then 
I  halted,  for  I  felt  that  I  had  reached  the  end  of  my 
journey  and  my  life  at  the  same  time.  Fatigue  and 
emotion  had  weakened  my  physical  powers,  and  I  leaned 
against  a  tree  to  save  myself  from  falling,  and  allowed 
my  eyes  to  wander  over  the  plain,  which  was  to  be  my 
place  of  execution. 

Up  to  this  moment  I  had  imagined  that  I  had  drained 
the  cup  of  bitterness  and  gall  to  the  dregs  ;  but  I  had 
not  until  then  tasted  the  most  cruel  of  all  misfortunes, 
—  that  of  being  constrained  by  powerful  moral  force  to 
voluntarily  renounce  life  when  it  appeared  most  sweet. 
Some  hours  before,  I  cared  not  for  the  world  ;  extreme 
despair  is  a  simulation  of  death  which  makes  the  reality 
more  earnestly  desired.  Marie  had  been  restored  to  me, 
my  dead  happiness  had  been  resuscitated,  my  past  had 
become  my  future,  and  all  my  overshadowed  hopes  had 
beamed  forth  more  gloriously  than  ever  ;  and  again  had  a 
new  life, —  a  life  of  youth  and  love  and  enchantment, 


BUG-JARGAL.  175 

—  shone  gloriously  upon  the  horizon.  I  was  ready  to 
enter  upon  this  life  ;  everything  invited  me  to  it  ;  no 
material  obstacle,  no  hindrance,  was  apparent.  I  was 
free,  I  was  happy,  and  yet  —  I  was  about  to  die.  I  had 
made  but  one  step  into  paradise,  and  a  hidden  duty 
compelled  me  to  retrace  it,  and  to  enter  upon  a  path  the 
goal  of  which  was  death  ! 

Death  has  but  few  terrors  for  the  crushed  and  broken 
spirit;  but  how  heavy  and  icy  is  his  hand  when  it 
grasps  the  heart  which  has  just  begun  to  live  and  revel 
in  the  joys  of  life  !  I  felt  that  I  had  emerged  from  the 
tomb,  and  had  for  a  moment  enjoyed  the  greatest  de- 
lights of  life,  love,  friendship,  and  liberty  ;  and  now  the 
door  of  the  sepulchre  was  again  opened,  and  an  unseen 
force  compelled  me  once  more  to  enter  it  forever. 


CHAPTEE   XLVII. 

WHEN  the  first  bitter  pang  of  grief  had  passed,  a 
kind  of  fury  took  possession  of  me  ;  and  I  entered 
the  valley  with  a  rapid  step,  for  I  felt  the  necessity  of 
shortening  the  period  of  suspense.  When  I  presented 
myself  at  the  negro  outpost,  the  sergeant  in  command 
at  first  refused  to  permit  me  to  pass.  It  seemed  strange 
that  I  should  be  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  entreaties  to 
enable  me  to  effect  my  object.  At  last  two  of  them 
seized  me  by  the  arms  and  led  me  into  Biassou's 
presence. 

As  I  entered  the  grotto  he  was  engaged  in  examining 
the  springs  of  various  instruments  of  torture  with  which 
he  was  surrounded.  At  the  noise  my  guard  made  in 
introducing  me  he  turned  his  head,  but  my  presence  did 
not  seem  to  surprise  him. 

"  Do  you  see  these  ?  "  asked  he,  displaying  the  horri- 
ble engines  which  lay  before  him. 

I  remained  calm  and  impassive,  for  I  knew  the  cruel 
nature  of  the  "  hero  of  humanity,  "  and  I  was  determined 
to  endure  to  the  end  without  blenching. 

"  Leogri  was  lucky  in  being  only  hung,  was  he  not  ?  " 
asked  he,  with  his  sardonic  sneer. 

I  gazed  upon  him  with  cold  disdain,  but  I  made  no 
reply. 

"  Tell  his  reverence  the  chaplain  that  the  prisoner  has 
returned,  "  said  he  to  an  aide-de-camp. 

During  the  absence  of  the  negro,  we  both  remained 
silent,   but  I  could  see  that  he  watched  me  narrowly. 


BUG-JARGAL.  177 

Just  then  Eigaud  entered;  he  seemed  agitated,  and 
whispered  a  few  words  to  the  general. 

"  Summon  the  chiefs  of  the  different  bands,  "  said 
Biassou,  calmly. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards,  the  different  chiefs 
in  their  strange  equipments  were  assembled  in  the 
grotto.      Biassou  rose. 

"  Listen  to  me,  friends  and  comrades  !  The  whites 
will  attack  us  here  at  daybreak  ;  our  position  is  a  bad 
one,  and  we  must  quit  it.  At  sunset  we  will  march  to 
the  Spanish  frontier.  Macaya,  you  and  your  negroes 
will  form  the  advanced  guards.  Padre j an,  see  that  the 
guns  taken  at  Pralato  are  spiked  ;  we  cannot  take  them 
into  the  mountains.  The  brave  men  of  Croix-des-Bouquets 
will  follow  Macaya  ;  Toussaint  will  come  next  with  the 
blacks  from  Léogane  and  Trose.  If  the  griots  or  the 
griotes  make  any  disturbance,  I  will  hand  them  over  to 
the  executioner  of  the  army.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Cloud 
will  distribute  the  English  muskets  that  were  disem- 
barked at  Cape  Cabron,  and  will  lead  the  half-breeds 
through  the  by-ways  of  the  Vista.  Slaughter  any  pris- 
oners that  may  remain,  notch  the  bullets,  and  poison 
the  arrows.  Let  three  tons  of  arsenic  be  thrown  into 
the  wells  ;  the  colonists  will  take  it  for  sugar,  and  drink 
without  distrust.  Block  up  the  roads  to  the  plain  with 
rocks,  line  the  hedges  with  marksmen,  and  set  fire  to 
the  forest.  Eigaud,  you  will  remain  with  me  ;  Candi, 
summon  my  body-guard.  The  negroes  of  Morne-Bouge 
will  form  the  rear-guard,  and  will  not  evacuate  the 
camp  until  sunrise.  " 

He  leaned  over  to  Eigaud,  and  whispered  hoarsely  : 
"  They  are  Bug-Jargal's  men;  if  they  are  killed,  all  the 
better.  '  Muerta  la  tropa,  murte  el  gefe  !  '  ('If  the  men 
die,  the  chief  will  die.  ') 

"  Go,  my  brethren,  "  he  added,  rising,  "  you  will  re- 
ceive instructions  from  Candi.  " 


1T8  BUG-JARGAL. 

The  chiefs  left  the  grotto 

"  General,  "  remarked  Kigaud,  "  we  ought  to  send  that 
dispatch  of  Jean  François  ;  affairs  are  going  "badly,  and 
it  would  stop  the  advance  of  the  whites.  " 

Biassou  drew  it  hastily  from  his  pocket.  "  I  agree 
with  you  ;  but  there  are  so  many  faults,  both  in  gram- 
mar and  spelling,  that  they  will  laugh  at  it.  " 

He  presented  the  paper  to  me.  "  For  the  last  time, 
will  you  save  your  life  ?  My  kindness  gives  you  a  last 
chance.  Help  me  to  correct  this  letter,  and  to  re-write 
it  in  proper  official  style.  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Do  you  mean  no  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  I  do,  "  I  replied. 

"  Eeflect,  "  he  answered,  with  a  sinister  glance  at  the 
instruments  of  torture. 

"  It  is  because  I  have  reflected  that  I  refuse,  "  replied 
I.  "  You  are  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  yourself  and  your 
men,  and  you  count  upon  this  letter  to  delay  the  just 
vengeance  of  the  whites.  I  do  not  desire  to  retain  a  life 
which  may  perhaps  have  saved  yours.  Let  my  execu- 
tion commence.  " 

"  Ha,  boy  !  "  exclaimed  Biassou,  touching  the  instru- 
ments of  torture  with  his  foot,  "  you  are  growing  famil- 
iar with  these,  are  you  ?  I  am  sorry,  but  I  have  not 
the  time  to  try  them  on  you  ;  our  position  is  a  dangerous 
one,  and  we  must  get  out  of  it  as  soon  as  we  can.  And 
so  you  refuse  to  act  as  my  secretary  ?  Well,  you  are 
right  ;  for  it  would  not  after  all  have  saved  your  miser- 
able life,  which,  by  the  way,  I  have  promised  to  his 
reverence  my  chaplain.  Do  you  think  that  I  would 
permit  any  one  to  live  who  holds  the  secrets  of 
Biassou  ?  " 

He  turned  to  the  Obi,  who  just  then  entered.  "  Good 
father,  is  your  guard  ready  ?  " 


BUG-JARGAL.  179 

The  latter  made  a  sign  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Have  you  taken  it  from  among  the  negroes  of  Morne- 
Kouge,  for  they  are  the.  only  ones  who  are  not  occupied 
in  preparations  for  departure  ?  " 

Again  the  Obi  bowed  his  head. 

Then  Biassou  pointed  out  to  me  the  black  flag  which 
I  had  before  remarked  in  a  corner  of  the  grotto.  "  That 
will  show  your  friends  when  the  time  comes  to  give 
your  place  to  your  lieutenant.  But  I  have  no  more  time 
to  lose  ;  I  must  be  off.  By  the  way,  you  have  been  for 
a  little  excursion  ;  how  did  you  like  the  neighbourhood  ?  " 

"  I  noticed  that  there  were  enough  trees  upon  which 
to  hang  you  and  all  your  band.  " 

"  Ah,  "  retorted  he,  with  his  hideous  laugh,  "  there  is 
one  place  that  you  have  not  seen,  but  with  which  the 
good  father  will  make  you  acquainted.  Adieu,  my 
young  captain,  and  give  my  compliments  to  Leogri.  " 

He  bade  me  farewell  with  a  chuckle  that  reminded 
me  of  the  hiss  of  the  rattlesnake,  and  turned  his  back 
as  the  negroes  dragged  me  away.  The  veiled  Obi  fol- 
lowed us,  his  rosary  in  his  hand. 


CHAPTEK  XLVIII. 

I  WALKED  between  my  guards  without  offering  any 
resistance,  which  would  indeed  have  been  hopeless. 
We  ascended  the  shoulder  of  a  hill  on  the  western  side 
of  the  plain,  and  then  my  escort  sat  down  for  a  brief 
period  of  repose.  As  we  did  so,  I  cast  a  last  lingering 
look  at  the  setting  sun,  which  would  never  rise  again 
for  me  on  this  earth. 

When  my  guards  rose  to  their  feet,  I  followed  their 
example,  and  we  descended  into  a  little  dell,  the  beauty 
of  which  under  any  other  circumstances  would  have 
filled  me  with  admiration.  A  mountain  stream  ran 
through  the  bottom  of  the  dell,  which  by  its  refreshing 
coolness  produced  a  thick  and  luxuriant  growth  of  vege- 
tation, and  fell  into  one  of  those  dark-blue  lakes  with 
which  the  hills  of  St.  Domingo  abound.  How  often  in 
happier  days  have  I  sat  and  dreamed  on  the  borders 
of  these  beautiful  lakes,  in  the  twilight  hour,  when  be- 
neath the  influence  of  the  moon  their  deep  azure  changed 
into  a  sheet  of  silver,  or  when  the  reflections  of  the  stars 
sowed  the  surface  with  a  thousand  golden  spangles  ! 
How  lovely  this  valley  appeared  to  me  !  There  were 
magnificent  plane-trees  of  gigantic  growth,  closely  grown 
thickets  of  mauritias,  a  kind  of  palm,  which  allows  no 
other  vegetation  to  flourish  beneath  its  shade  ;  date-trees 
and  magnolias  with  the  goblet-shaped  flowers.  The  tall 
catalpa,  with  its  polished  and  exquisitely  chiselled 
blossoms,  stood  out  in  relief  against  the  golden  buds  of 


BUG-JARGAL.  181 

the  ebony-trees  ;  the  Canadian  maple  mingled  its  yellow 
flowers  with  the  blue  aureolas  of  that  species  of  the  wild 
honeysuckle  which  the  negroes  call  "  coali  ;  "  thick  cur- 
tains of  luxurious  creepers  concealed  the  bare  sides  of 
the  rocks,  while  from  the  virgin  soil  rose  a  soft  perfume, 
such  as  the  first  man  may  have  inhaled  amidst  Eden's 
groves. 

We  continued  our  way  along  a  footpath  traced  on  the 
brink  of  the  torrent.  I  was  surprised  to  notice  that  this 
path  closed  abruptly  at  the  foot  of  a  tall  peak,  in  which 
was  a  natural  archway,  from  which  flowed  a  rapid  tor- 
rent. A  dull  roar  of  falling  waters,  and  an  impetuous 
wind  issued  from  this  natural  tunnel.  The  negroes  who 
escorted  me  took  a  path  to  the  left  which  led  into  a 
cavern,  and  seemed  to  be  the  bed  of  a  torrent  that  had 
long  been  dried  up.  Overhead  I  could  see  the  rugged 
roof,  half  hidden  by  masses  of  vegetation,  and  the  same 
sound  of  falling  waters  filled  the  whole  of  the  vault. 

As  I  took  the  first  step  into  the  cavern,  the  Obi  came 
to  my  side,  and  whispered  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  Listen  to 
what  I  have  to  predict  :  only  one  of  us  two  shall  leave 
by  this  path  and  issue  again  from  the  entrance  of  the 
cave.  " 

I  disdained  to  make  any  reply,  and  we  advanced  fur- 
ther  into  the  gloom.  The  noise  became  louder,  and 
drowned  the  sound  of  our  footfalls.  I  fancied  that  there 
must  be  a  waterfall  near,  and  I  was  not  deceived.  After 
moving  through  the  darkness  for  nearly  ten  minutes, 
we  found  ourselves  on  a  kind  of  internal  platform  caused 
by  the  central  formation  of  the  mountain.  The  larger 
portion  of  this  platform,  which  was  of  a  semicircular 
shape,  was  inundated  by  a  torrent  which  burst  from  the 
interior  of  the  mountain  with  a  terrible  din.  Above 
this  subterranean  hall  the  roof  rose  into  the  shape  of  a 
dome,  covered  with  moss  of  a  yellowish  hue.     A  large 


182  BUG-JAKGAL. 

opening  was  formed  in  the  dome,  through  which  the 
daylight  penetrated  ;  and  the  sides  of  the  crevice  were 
fringed  with  green  trees,  gilded  just  now  by  the  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  At  the  northern  extremity  of 
the  platform  the  torrent  fell  with  a  frightful  noise  into 
a  deep  abyss,  over  which  appeared  to  float,  without  be- 
ing able  to  illuminate  its  depths,  a  feeble  portion  of  the 
light  which  came  through  the  aperture  in  the  roof. 

Over  this  terrible  precipice  hung  the  trunk  of  an  old 
tree,  whose  topmost  branches  were  filled  with  the  foam 
of  the  waterfall,  and  whose  knotty  roots  pierced  through 
the  rock  two  or  three  feet  below  the  brink.  This  tree, 
whose  top  and  roots  were  both  swept  by  the  torrent, 
hung  over  the  abyss  like  a  skeleton  arm,  and  was  so 
destitute  of  foliage  that  I  could  not  distinguish  its 
species.  It  had  a  strange  and  weird  appearance  ;  the 
humidity  which  saturated  its  roots  prevented  it  from 
dying,  while  the  force  of  the  cataract  tore  off  its  new 
shoots,  and  only  left  it  with  the  branches  that  had 
strength  to  resist  the  force  of  the  water. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

IN  this  terrible  spot  the  negroes  came  to  a  halt,  and  1 
knew  that  my  hour  had  come.  It  was  in  this  abyss, 
then,  that  was  to  be  sunk  all  my  hopes  in  this  world. 
The  image  of  the  happiness  which  but  a  few  hours  be- 
fore I  had  voluntarily  renounced  brought  to  my  heart  a 
feeling  of  regret,  almost  one  of  remorse.  To  pray  for 
mercy  was  unworthy  of  me,  but  I  could  not  refrain 
from  giving  utterance  to  my  regrets. 

"  Friends,  "  said  I  to  the  negroes  who  surrounded  me, 
"  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  die  at  twenty  years  of  age,  full  of 
life  and  strength,  when  one  is  loved  by  one  whom  in 
your  turn  you  adore,  and  when  you  leave  behind  you 
eyes  that  will  ever  weep  for  your  untimely  end.  " 

A  mocking  burst  of  laughter  hailed  my  expression  of 
regret.  It  came  from  the  little  Obi.  This  species  of 
evil  spirit,  this  living  mystery,  approached  me  roughly. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  you  regret  life  then,  Zabadosea  Bios  ! 
My  only  fear  was  that  death  would  have  no  terrors  for 
you.  » 

It  was  the  same  voice,  the  same  laugh  that  had  so 
often  before  baffled  my  conjectures.  "  Wretch  !  "  ex- 
claimed I,   "  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  learn,  "  replied  he,  in  a  voice  of 
concentrated  passion  ;  and  thrusting  aside  the  silver  sun 
that  half  concealed  his  brown  chest,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Look  !  ■      ' 

I  bent  forward.  Two  names  were  written  in  white 
letters  on  the  hairy  chest  of  the  Obi,  showing  but  too 


184  BUG-JARGAL. 

clearly  the  hideous  and  ineffaceable  brand  of  the  heated 
iron.  One  of  these  names  was  Effingham  ;  the  other 
was  that  of  my  uncle  and  myself,  D'Auverney!  I  was 
struck  dumb  with  surprise. 

"Well,  Leopold  d'Auverney, "  asked  the  Obi,  "does 
not  your  name  tell  you  mine  ?  * 

"  No,  "  answered  I,  astonished  to  hear  the  man  name 
me,  and  seeking  to  re-collect  my  thoughts.  "  These 
two  names  were  only  to  be  found  thus  united  upon  the 
chest  of  my  uncle's  fool.  But  the  poor  dwarf  is  dead; 
and  besides  that,  he  was  devotedly  attached  to  us.  You 
cannot  be  Habibrah.  " 

"  No  other  !  "  shrieked  he  ;  and  casting  aside  the 
blood-stained  cap,  he  raised  his  veil  and  showed  me  the 
hideous  features  of  the  household  fool.  But  a  threaten- 
ing and  sinister  expression  had  usurped  the  half  imbe- 
cile smile  which  was  formerly  eternally  imprinted  on 
his  features. 

"  Great  God  !  "  exclaimed  I,  overwhelmed  with  sur- 
prise, "  do  all  the  dead,  then,  come  back  to  life  ?  It  is 
Habibrah,  my  uncle's  fool  !  " 

"  His  fool,  and  also  his  murderer.  " 

I  recoiled  from  him  in  horror.  "  His  murderer, 
wretch  !    Was  it  thus  that  you  repaid  his  kindness  —  " 

He  interrupted  me.  "  His  kindness  !  rather  say  his 
insults.  " 

"  What  !  "  I  again  cried,  "  was  it  you,  villain,  who 
struck  the  fatal  blow  ?  " 

"  It  was,  "  he  replied,  with  a  terrible  expression  upon 
his  face.  "  I  plunged  my  knife  so  deeply  into  his  heart 
that  he  had  hardly  time  to  cast  aside  sleep  before  death 
claimed  him.  He  cried  out  feebly,  *  Habibrah,  come  to 
me  !  '  but  I  was  with  him  already!  " 

The  cold-blooded  manner  in  which  he  narrated  the 
murder  disgusted   me.     "  Wretch  !    cowardly  assassin  ! 


BUG-JARGAL.  185 

You  forgot,  then,  all  his  kindness  ;  that  you  ate  at  his 
table,  and  slept  at  the  foot  of  his  bed —  " 

"  Like  a  dog  !  "  interrupted  Habibrah,  roughly,  "  como 
un  pèrro.  I  thought  too  much  of  what  you  call  his 
kindness,  but  which  I  looked  upon  as  insults.  I  took 
vengeance  upon  him,  and  I  will  do  the  same  upon  you. 
Listen  :  do  you  think  that  because  I  am  a  mulatto  and  a 
deformed  dwarf  that  I  am  not  a  man  ?  Ah,  I  have  a 
soul  stronger,  deeper,  and  bolder  than  the  one  that  I  am 
about  to  set  free  from  your  girlish  frame.  I  was  given 
to  your  uncle  as  if  I  had  been  a  pet  monkey.  I  was  his 
butt  ;  I  amused  him,  while  he  despised  me.  He  loved 
me,  do  you  say  ?  Yes,  forsooth  ;  I  had  a  place  in  his 
heart  between  his  dog  and  his  parrot;  but  I  found  a 
better  place  there  with  my  dagger.  " 

I  shuddered. 

"  Yes,  "  continued  the  dwarf,  "  it  was  I,  I  that  did  it  all. 
Look  me  well  in  the  face,  Leopold  d'Auverney:  you 
have  often  laughed  at  me,  now  you  shall  tremble  before 
me.  And  you  dare  to  speak  of  your  uncle's  liking  for 
me,  —  a  liking  that  carried  degradation  with  it.  If  I 
entered  the  room,  a  shout  of  contemptuous  laughter  was 
my  greeting  ;  my  appearance,  my  deformities,  my  fea- 
tures, my  costume,  —  all  furnished  food  for  laughter  to 
your  accursed  uncle  and  his  accursed  friends,  while  I 
was  not  allowed  even  to  remain  silent  ;  it  was  necessary 
for  me  to  join  in  the  very  laughter  that  was  levelled  at 
me  !  I  foam  with  rage  while  I  think  of  it  Answer 
me  :  do  you  think  that  after  such  humiliations  I  could 
feel  anything  but  the  deadliest  hatred  for  the  creature 
that  inflicted  them  upon  me?  Do  you  not  think  that 
they  were  a  thousand  times  harder  to  endure  than  the 
toil  in  the  burning  sun,  the  fetters,  and  the  whip  of  the 
driver,  which  were  the  lot  of  the  other  slaves  ?  Do  you 
not  think  that  they  would  cause  ardent,  implacable,  and 


186  BUG-JARGAL. 

eternal  hatred  to  spring  up  in  the  heart  of  man  as  last- 
ing as  the  accursed  brand  which  degrades  my  chest? 
Has  not  the  vengeance  that  I  have  taken  for  my  suffer- 
ings been  short  and  insufficient.  Why  could  I  not  make 
my  tyrant  suffer  something  of  what  I  endured  for  so 
many  years  ?  Why  could  he  not  before  his  death  know 
the  bitterness  of  wounded  pride,  and  feel  what  burning 
traces  the  tears  of  shame  leave  upon  a  face  condemned 
to  wear  a  perpetual  smile  ?  Alas  !  it  is  too  hard  to  have 
waited  so  long  for  the  hour  of  vengeance,  and  then  only 
to  find  it  in  a  dagger  thrust  !  Had  he  but  known  the 
hand  that  struck  him,  it  would  have  been  something; 
but  I  was  too  eager  to  hear  his  dying  groan,  and  I  drove 
the  knife  too  quickly  home  :  he  died  without  having 
recognized  me,  and  my  eagerness  balked  my  vengeance. 
This  time,  however,  it'  shall  be  more  complete.  You 
see  me,  do  you  not  ?  Though  in  point  of  fact  you  may 
be  unable  to  recognize  me  in  my  new  character.  You 
have  always  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  me  laughing 
and  joyous  ;  but  now  nothing  prevents  me  from  letting 
my  true  nature  appear  on  my  face,  and  I  do  not  greatly 
resemble  my  former  self.  You  only  knew  my  mask; 
look  now  upon  my  real  face  !  " 

At  that  moment  his  appearance  was  truly  terrible. 
"  Monster  !  "  exclaimed  I,  "  you  deceive  yourself  ;  there 
is  more  of  buffoonery  than  heroism  in  your  face  even 
now,  and  nothing  in  your  heart  but  cruelty.  " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  cruelty,  "  retorted  he,  "  think  of 
your  uncle  —  " 

"  Wretch  !  "  returned  I,  "  if  he  were  cruel,  it  was  at 
your  instigation.  You,  to  pretend  to  pity  the  position 
of  the  poor  slaves  !  Why,  then,  did  you  not  exert  all 
your  influence  to  make  their  master  treat  them  less 
harshly  ?    Why  did  you  never  intercede  in  their  favour  ?  * 

"  I  would  not  have  done  so  for  the  world.     Would  I 


BUG-JARGAL.  187 

ever  attempt  to  hinder  a  white  man  from  blackening  his 
soul  by  an  act  of  cruelty  ?  No,  no  !  I  urged  him  to  in- 
flict more  and  more  punishment  upon  his  slaves,  so  as 
to  hurry  on  the  revolt,  and  thus  draw  down  a  surer  ven- 
geance upon  the  heads  of  our  oppressors.  In  seeming  to 
injure  my  brethren  I  was  serving  them.  " 

I  was  thunderstruck  at  such  a  cunning  act  of  diplo- 
macy carried  out  by  such  a  man. 

"  Well,  "  continued  the  dwarf,  "  do  you  believe  now 
that  I  had  the  brain  to  conceive  and  the  hand  to  execute  ? 
What  do  you  think  of  Habibrah  the  buffoon  ?  What 
do  you  think  of  your  uncle's  '  fool  '  ?  " 

"  Finish  what  you  have  begun  so  well,  "  replied  I. 
"  Let  me  die,  but  let  there  be  no  more  delay.  " 

"  And  suppose  I  wish  for  delay  ?  Suppose  that  it  does 
my  heart  good  to  watch  you  in  the  agonies  of  suspense  ? 
You  see  Biassou  owed  me  my  share  in  the  last  plunder. 
When  I  saw  you  in  our  camp  I  asked  for  your  life  as  my 
share,  and  he  granted  it  willingly  ;  and  now  you  are 
mine,  I  am  amusing  myself  with  you.  Soon  you  will 
follow  the  stream  of  the  cataract  into  the  abyss  beneath  ; 
but  before  doing  so,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  have  discov- 
ered the  spot  where  your  wife  is  concealed,  and  it  was  I 
that  advised  Biassou  to  set  the  forest  on  fire  :  the  work, 
I  imagine,  is  already  begun.  Thus  your  family  will  be 
swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Your  uncle  fell  by 
steel,  you  will  perish  by  water,  and  your  Marie  by 
fire  !  " 

"  Villain  !  villain  !  "  I  exclaimed,  and  I  made  an 
effort  to  seize  him  by  the  throat,  but  a  wave  of  his  hand 
summoned  my  guards. 

"  Bind  him  !  "  cried  he  ;  "  he  precipitates  his  hour  of 
doom  !  " 

In  dead  silence  the  negroes  began  to  bind  me  with 
the  cords  that  they  had  carried  with  them.      Suddenly  I 


188  BUG-JARGAL- 

faneied  that  I  heard  the  distant  barking  of  a  dog,  but 
this  sound  might  be  only  an  illusion  caused  by  the  noise 
of  the  cascade. 

The  negroes  had  finished  binding  me,  and  placed  me 
on  the  brink  of  the  abyss  into  which  I  was  so  soon  to  be 
hurled.  The  dwarf,  with  folded  arms,  gazed  upon  the 
scene  with  a  sinister  expression  of  joy.  I  lifted  my 
eyes  to  the  opening  in  the  roof  so  as  to  avoid  the  trium- 
phant expression  of  malice  painted  on  his  countenance, 
and  to  take  one  last  look  at  the  blue  sky.  At  that  in- 
stant the  barking  was  more  distinctly  heard,  and  the 
enormous  head  of  Eask  appeared  at  the  opening.  I 
trembled. 

The  dwarf  exclaimed,  "  Finish  with  him  !  "  and  the 
negroes,  who  had  not  noticed  the  dog,  raised  me  in 
their  arms  to  hurl  me  into  the  hell  of  waters  which 
roared  and  foamed  beneath  me. 


CHAPTEE  L. 

•  COMRADES  !  "  cried  a  voice  of  thunder. 

^^  All  looked  at  the  spot  from  whence  the  sound 
proceeded.  Bug-Jargal  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  the 
opening,  a  crimson  plume  floating  on  his  head. 

"  Comrades,  "  repeated  he,  "  stay  your  hands  !  " 

The  negroes  prostrated  themselves  upon  the  earth  in 
token  of  submission. 

"  I  am  Bug-Jargal  !  "  continued  he. 

The  negroes  struck  the  earth  with  their  heads,  utter- 
ing cries  the  meaning  of  which  I  could  not  comprehend. 

"  Unbind  the  prisoner  !  "  commanded  the  chief. 

But  now  the  dwarf  appeared  to  recover  from  the  stu- 
por into  which  the  sudden  appearance  of  Bug-Jargal  had 
thrown  him,  and  he  seized  by  the  arm  the  negro  who 
was  preparing  to  cut  the  cords  that  bound  me.  "  What 
is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  cried 
he. 

Then,  raising  his  voice,  he  addressed  Bug-Jargal  : 
"  Chief  of  Morne-Rouge,  "  cried  he,  "  what  are  you  do- 
ing here  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  command  my  own  men,  "  was  the 
reply. 

"  Yes,  "  answered  the  dwarf,  in  tones  of  concentrated 
passion,  "  these  negroes  do  certainly  belong  to  your 
band  ;  but,  "  added  he,  raising  his  voice  again,  "  by  what 
right  do  you  interfere  with  my  prisoner  ?  " 

The  chief  answered,  "  I  am  Bug-Jargal  !  "  and  again 
the  negroes  struck  the  ground  with  their  foreheads. 


190  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  Bug-Jargal,  "  continued  Habibrah,  "  cannot  contra- 
vene the  orders  of  Biassou.  This  white  man  was  given 
to  me  by  Biassou;  I  desire  his  death,  and  die  he  shall. 
Obey  me,  "  he  added,  turning  to  the  negroes,  "  and  hurl 
him  into  the  abyss  !  " 

At  the  well-known  voice  of  the  Obi  the  negroes  rose 
to  their  feet  and  took  a  step  towards  me.  I  thought  all 
was  lost. 

"  Unbind  the  prisoner  !  "  cried  Bug- Jargal  again. 

In  an  instant  I  was  free.  My  surprise  was  equalled 
by  the  fury  of  the  Obi.  He  attempted  to  throw  himself 
upon  me.  The  negroes  interfered;  then  he  burst  out 
into  imprecations  and  threats. 

"  Demonios  !  rabia  !  inferno  de  mi  alma  !  How, 
wretches,  you  refuse  to  obey  me  ?  Do  you  not  recognize 
my  voice  ?  Why  did  I  lose  time  in  talking  to  this  ac- 
cursed one  ?  I  ought  to  have  had  him  hurled  without 
delay  to  the  fishes  of  the  gulf.  By  wishing  to  make  my 
vengeance  more  complete  I  have  lost  it  all  together. 
Orabia  de  Satan.  Listen  to  me  :  if  you  do  not  obey  me, 
and  hurl  him  into  the  abyss,  I  will  curse  you  ;  your  hair 
shall  grow  white,  the  mosquitoes  and  sandflies  shall  eat 
you  up  alive  ;  your  legs  and  your  arms  shall  bend  like 
reeds  ;  your  breath  shall  burn  your  throat  like  red  hot- 
sand;  you  shall  die  young,  and  after  your  death  your 
spirit  shall  be  compelled  to  turn  a  millstone  as  big  as 
a  mountain,  in  the  moon  where  it  is  always  cold  !  " 

The  scene  was  a  strange  one.  I  was  the  only  one  of 
my  colour  in  a  damp  and  gloomy  cavern  surrounded  by 
negroes  with  the  aspect  of  demons,  balanced  as  it  were 
upon  the  edge  of  a  bottomless  gulf,  and  every  now  and 
then  threatened  by  a  deformed  dwarf,  by  a  hideous  sor- 
cerer upon  whose  striped  garments  and  pointed  cap  the 
fading  light  shone  faintly,  yet  protected  by  a  tall  negro 
who  was  standing  at   the  only  point  from  which  day- 


BUG-JARGAL.  191 

light  could  be  seen.  It  appeared  to  me  almost  that  I 
was  at  the  gates  of  hell,  awaiting  the  conflict  between 
my  good  and  evil  angels,  to  result  in  the  salvation  or 
the  destruction  of  my  soul.  The  negroes  appeared  to  be 
terrified  at  the  threats  of  the  Obi,  and  he  endeavoured  to 
profit  by  their  indecision. 

"  I  desire  the  death  of  the  white  man,  and  he  shall 
die  ;■  obey  me  !  " 

Bug-Jargal  replied  solemnly  :  "  He  shall  live  !  I  am 
Bug-Jargal;  my  father  was  the  King  of  Kakongo  who 
dispensed  justice  at  the  gate  of  his  palace.  " 

Again  the  negroes  cast  themselves  upon  the  ground. 

The  chief  continued  :  "  Brethren,  go  and  tell  Biassou 
not  to  unfurl  the  black  banner  upon  the  mountain-top 
which  should  announce  to  the  whites  the  signal  of  this 
man's  death,  for  he  was  the  saviour  of  Bug-Jargal's  life, 
and  Bug-Jargal  wills  that  he  should  live.  " 

They  rose  up.  Bug-Jargal  threw  his  red  plume  on 
the  ground  before  them.  The  chief  of  the  guard  picked 
it  up  with  every  show  of  respect,  and  they  left  the  cav- 
ern without  a  word.  The  Obi,  with  a  glance  of  rage, 
followed  them  down  the  subterranean  avenue. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  my  feelings  at  that 
moment.  I  fixed  my  eyes,  wet  with  tears,  upon  Pierrot, 
who  gazed  upon  me  with  a  singular  expression  of  love 
and  tenderness. 

"  God  be  praised,  "  said  he,  "  you  are  saved  !  Brother, 
go  back  by  the  road  by  which  you  entered  ;  you  will 
meet  me  again  in  the  valley.  " 

He  waved  his  hand  to  me  and  disappeared  from  my 
sight. 


CHAPÏEE   LI. 

EAGEK  to  arrive  at  the  appointed  meeting-place,  and 
to  learn  by  what  fortunate  means  my  saviour  had 
been  enabled  to  make  his  appearance  at  so  opportune  a 
moment,  I  prepared  to  leave  the  cavern  in  which  my 
nerves  had  been  so  severely  tried  ;  but  as  I  prepared  to 
enter  the  subterranean  passage  an  unexpected  obstacle 
presented  itself  in  my  path.     It  was  Habibrah  Î 

The  revengeful  Obi  had  not  in  reality  followed  the 
negroes  as  I  had  believed,  but  had  concealed  himself 
behind  a  rocky  projection  of  the  cave,  waiting  for  a 
propitious  moment  for  his  vengeance  ;  and  this  moment 
had  come.  He  laughed  bitterly  as  he  showed  himself. 
A  dagger,  the  same  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  using  for 
a  crucifix,  shone  in  his  right  hand.  At  the  sight  of  it 
I  recoiled  a  step. 

"  Ha,  accursed  one  !  did  you  think  to  escape  me  ?  But 
the  fool  is  not  such  a  fool  after  all'.  I  have  you,  and 
this  time  there  shall  be  no  delay.  Your  friend  Bug- 
Jargal  shall  not  wait  for  you  long, —  you  shall  soon  be 
at  the  meeting-place  ;  but  it  will  be  the  wave  of  the 
cataract  that  shall  bear  you  there.  " 

As  he  spoke  he  dashed  at  me  with  uplifted  weapon. 

"  Monster  !  "  cried  I,  retreating  to  the  platform,  "  just 
now  you  were  only  an  executioner;  now  you  are  a 
murderer.  " 

"  I  am  an  avenger  !  "   returned  he,  grinding  his  teeth. 

I  was  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice  ;  he  endeavoured  to 
hurl  me  over  with  a  blow  of  his  dagger.  I  avoided  it. 
His  foot  slipped  on  the  treacherous  moss  which  covered 


BUG-JARGAL.  193 

the  rocks,  and  he  rolled  into  the  slope  polished  and 
rounded  by  the  constant  flow  of  water. 

"  A  thousand  devils  !  "  roared  he. 

He  had  fallen  into  the  abyss.  I  have  already  men- 
tioned that  the  roots  of  the  old  tree  projected  through 
the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  a  little  below  the  edge  of  the 
precipice.  In  his  fall  the  dwarf  struck  against  these, 
and  his  striped  petticoat  caught  in  them;  he  grasped  at 
them  as  a  last  hope  of  safety,  and  clung  to  them  with 
all  the  energy  of  despair.  His  pointed  bonnet  fell  from 
his  head  ;  to  maintain  his  position  he  had  to  let  go  his 
dagger,  and  the  two  together  disappeared  in  the  depths 
of  the  abyss. 

Habibrah,  suspended  over  the  terrible  gulf,  strove 
vainly  to  regain  the  platform,  but  his  short  arms  could 
not  reach  the  rocky  edge,  and  he  broke  his  nails  in  use- 
less efforts  to  obtain  a  hold  on  the  muddy  surface  of  the 
rocks  which  sloped  down  into  the  terrible  abyss.  He 
howled  with  rage.  The  slightest  push  on  my  part 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  hurl  him  to  destruction  ; 
but  such  an  act  would  have  been  one  of  cowardice,  and 
I  made  no  movement.  This  moderation  on  my  part 
seemed  to  surprise  him.  Thanking  Heaven  for  its  mer- 
cies, I  determined  to  abandon  him  to  his  fate,  and  was 
about  to  leave  the  cave,  when,  in  a  voice  broken  with 
fear,  and  which  appeared  to  come  from  the  depths  of  the 
abyss,  he  addressed,  me. 

"Master,"  cried  he,  "master,  do  not  go,  for  pity's 
sake  !  Do  not,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  leave  a  guilty 
creature  to  perish  whom  it  is  in  your  power  to  save  ! 
Alas  !  my  strength  is  failing  me  ;  the  roots  bend  and 
slip  through  my  Angers  ;  the  weight  of  my  body  drags 
me  down  :  I  must  let  go,  or  my  arms  will  break  !  Alas  ! 
master,  the  fearful  gulf  boils  and  seethes  beneath  me  ! 
Nombre  santo  de  Bios  !     Have  you  no  pity  for  the  poor 


194  BUG-JARGAL. 

fool?  He  has  been  very  guilty,  but  prove  that  the 
white  men  are  better  than  the  mulattoes,  the  masters 
than  the  slaves,  by  saving  him  !  " 

I  approached  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  and  the  fee- 
ble light  that  broke  through  the  aperture  in  the  roof 
showed  me  on  the  repulsive  features  of  the  dwarf  an 
expression  which  I  had  never  noticed  before,  —  that  of 
prayer  and  supplication. 

"  Senor  Leopold,  "  continued  he,  encouraged  by  the 
movement  of  pity  that  I  showed,  "  can  you  see  a  fellow- 
creature  in  so  terrible  a  position  of  peril,  without  stretch- 
ing out  a  hand  to  save  him  ?  Give  me  your  hand, 
master  ;  with  very  slight  assistance  from  you  I  can  save 
myself  :  I  only  ask  for  a  little  help.  Help  me  then, 
and  my  gratitude  shall  be  as  great  as  my  crimes  !  " 

I  interrupted  him.  "  Unhappy  wretch,  do  not  recall 
them  to  my  memory.  " 

"  It  is  because  I  repent  of  them  that  I  do  so.  Oh,  be 
generous  to  me  !  0  heavens,  my  hand  relaxes  its  grasp, 
and  I  fall  !  Ay  desdichado  !  Your  hand,  your  hand  ! 
in  the  name  of  the  mother  who  bore  you,  give  me 
your  hand  ! " 

I  cannot  describe  the  tone  of  agony  in  which  he 
pleaded  for  help.  In  this  moment  of  peril  I  forgot  all  ; 
he  was  no  longer  an  enemy,  a  traitor,  and  an  assassin, 
but  an  unhappy  fellow-creature,  whom  a  slight  exertion 
upon  my  part  could  rescue  from  a  frightful  death.  He 
implored  me  in  heart-rending  accents.  Eeproaches  would 
have  been  fruitless  and  out  of  place.  The  necessity  for 
help  was  urgent  and  immediate.  I  stooped,  knelt  down 
on  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  and  grasping  the  trunk 
of  the  tree  with  one  hand,  I  extended  the  other  to 
Habibrah. 

As  soon  as  it  was  within  his  reach,  he  grasped  it  with 
both  his  hands,  and  hung  on  to  it  with  all  his  strength. 


BUG-JARGAL.  195 

Far  from  attempting  to  aid  me  in  my  efforts  to  draw 
him  up,  I  felt  that  he  was  exerting  all  his  powers  to 
draw  me  down  with  him  into  the  abyss.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  the  assistance  afforded  to  me  by  the  trunk  of 
the  tree,  I  must  infallibly  have  been  dragged  over  by 
the  violent  and  unexpected  jerk  that  the  wretched  man 
gave  me. 

"  Villain  !  "  cried  I,  "  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Avenging  myself  !  "  answered  he,  with  a  peal  of 
devilish  laughter.  "  Aha,  madman  !  have  I  got  you  in 
my  clutches  once  more  ?  You  have  of  your  own  free- 
will placed  yourself  again  in  my  power,  and  I  hold  you 
tight.  You  were  saved  and  I  was  lost  ;  and  yet  you  of 
your  own  accord  place  your  head  between  the  jaws  of 
the  alligator,  because  it  wept  after  having  roared.  I 
can  bear  death,  since  it  will  give  me  revenge.  You  are 
caught  in  the  trap,  amigo,  and  I  shall  take  a  companion 
with  me  to  feed  the  fishes  of  the  lake.  " 

"  Ah,  traitor  !  "  cried  I,  struggling  with  all  my 
strength,  "  is  it  thus  that  you  serve  me  when  I  was 
trying  to  save  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  "  hissed  he.  "  I  know  that  we  could  have  saved 
ourselves  together,  but  I  would  rather  that  we  should 
die  at  the  same  moment.  I  had  rather  compass  your 
death  than  save  my  life.     Come  down  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  his  brown  muscular  hands  renewed  their 
grasp  upon  mine  with  unexpected  strength  ;  his  eyes 
blazed,  his  mouth  foamed.  The  strength,  the  departure 
of  which  he  had  before  so  piteously  bewailed,  had  re- 
turned to  him  increased  a  thousandfold  by  the  hope  of 
revenge.  His  feet  were  planted  like  two  perpendicular 
levers  on  a  ledge  of  rock,  and  he  struggled  like  a  tiger 
against  the  root  which,  entangled  in  his  clothes,  sup- 
ported him  in  spifce  of  himself;  for  he  was  endeavour- 
ing with  all  his  might  to  shake  himself  free,  so  as  to 


196  BUG-JARGAL. 

bring  all  his  weight  to  bear  on  me,  and  to  drag  me  more 
quickly  into  the  yawning  gulf  below.  In  his  rage  he 
endeavoured  to  bite  me,  while  his  hideous  features  were 
rendered  more  terrible  by  their  expression  of  satanic 
frenzy.  He  looked  like  the  demon  of  the  cave  seeking 
to  drag  down  his  victim  to  his  abode  of  gloom  and 
darkness. 

One  of  my  knees,  by  good  fortune,  was  planted  in  a 
groove  of  the  rock,  and  my  arm  was  wound  round  the 
trunk  of  the  tree,  and  I  strove  against  the  efforts  of  the 
dwarf  with  all  the  strength  that  the  feeling  of  self- 
preservation  could  give  me  at  such  a  moment.  Every 
now  and  then  I  drew  a  long  breath,  and  shouted  "  Bug- 
Jargal  !  "  with  all  the  force  of  my  lungs.  But  the  roar 
of  the  cascade  and  the  distance  that  he  must  be  off  gave 
me  but  faint  hopes  of  my  voice  reaching  him. 

The  dwarf,  who  had  not  anticipated  so  vigorous  a  re- 
sistance on  my  part,  redoubled  his  efforts.  I  began  to 
grow  weak,  though  in  reality  the  struggle  had  not  taken 
so  long  as  the  narration  of  it.  A  violent  pain  paralyzed 
my  arm,  my  sight  grew  dim,  bright  sparks  flashed  be- 
fore my  eyes,  and  a  buzzing  sound  filled  my  ears.  I 
heard  the  creaking  of  the  root  as  it  bent,  mingled  with 
the  laugh  of  the  monster,  and  the  abyss  seemed  to  rise 
up  towards  me  as  though  eager  to  engulf  its  prey.  But 
before  I  gave  up  all  hope  I  made  a  last  effort,  and 
collecting  together  my  exhausted  forces,  I  once  again 
shouted,    "  Bug-Jargal  !  " 

A  loud  bark  replied  to  me  ;  it  was  Eask  who  thus  ans- 
wered my  appeal  for  help.  I  glanced  upwards  :  Bug-Jargal 
and  his  dog  were  gazing  at  me  from  the  orifice  in  the  roof. 
He  saw  my  danger  at  once.      "  Hold  on  !  "   cried  he. 

Habibrah,  fearing  that  I  might  yet  be  saved,  foamed 
with  rage  ;  and  crying,  "  Come  down  there  !  come  down  !" 
he  renewed  the  attack  with  almost  supernatural  vigour. 


BUG-JARGAL.  197 

At  this  moment,  weakened  by  the  long  struggle,  my 
arm  lost  its  hold  of  the  tree.  All  seemed  over  with  me, 
when  I  felt  myself  seized  from  behind.  It  was  Eask  ! 
At  a  sign  from  his  master  he  had  leaped  down  on  the 
platform,  and  seized  me  by  the  skirts  of  my  uniform 
with  his  powerful  teeth. 

This  unlooked-for  aid  saved  me.  Habibrah  had  ex- 
hausted all  his  strength  in  a  last  convulsive  effort; 
while  I  put  forth  all  mine,  and  succeeded  in  withdraw- 
ing my  hand  from  his  cramped  and  swollen  fingers. 
The  root,  which  had  been  for  some  time  yielding,  now 
parted  suddenly  ;  Eask  gave  me  a  violent  pull  back- 
wards, and  the  wretched  dwarf  disappeared  in  the  foam 
of  the  cascade,  hurling  a  curse  at  me  which  was  swal- 
lowed up  with  him  in  the  whirl  of  waters. 

Such  was  the  terrible  end  of  my  uncle's  fooL 


CHÀPTEK  LIL 

THE  excitement  of  the  last  few  hours,  the  terrible 
struggle  and  its  awful  conclusion,  had  utterly  ex- 
hausted me;  and  I  lay  where  I  had  fallen,  almost 
deprived  of  sense  or  power  of  motion.  The  voice  of 
Bug-Jargal  restored  me  to  myself. 

"  Brother,  "  cried  he,  "  hasten  to  leave  this  place.  In 
half  an  hour  the  sun  will  have  set  ;  I  will  meet  you  in 
the  valley.      Follow  Bask.  " 

The  words  of  my  friend  restored  hope,  strength,  and 
courage  to  me.  I  rose  to  my  feet.  The  great  dog  ran 
rapidly  down  the  subterranean  passage  ;  I  followed  him, 
his  bark  guiding  me  through  the  darkness.  After  a 
time  I  saw  a  streak  of  light,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
I  gained  the  entrance,  and  breathed  more  freely  as  I 
passed  through  the  archway.  As  I  left  the  damp  and 
gloomy  vault  behind  me,  I  recalled  to  my  mind  the  pre- 
diction of  the  dwarf,  and  its  fatal  fulfilment,  "  One  only 
of  us  shall  return  by  this  road  !  "  His  attempt  had 
failed,  but  the  prophecy  had  been  carried  out. 


CHAPTEE  LUI. 

BUG-JABGAL  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  valley.  I 
threw  myself  into  his  arms  ;  but  I  had  so  many 
questions  to  put  to  him  that  I  could  not  find  words  in 
which  to  express  them. 

"  Listen  to  me,  "  said  he.  "  Your  wife,  my  sister,  is 
in  safety  in  the  camp  of  the  white  men  ;  1  handed  her 
over  to  a  relative  of  yours  who  was  in  command  of  the 
outposts,  and  I  wished  again  to  constitute  myself  a 
prisoner,  lest  they  should  execute  the  ten  prisoners 
whose  lives  were  security  for  my  re-appearance.  But  your 
relative  told  me  to  return,  and,  if  possible,  to  prevent 
your  execution  ;  and  that  the  ten  negroes  should  not  be 
executed  until,  Biassou  should  announce  the  fact  by  dis- 
playing a  black  flag  on  one  of  the  highest  peaks  of  the 
mountains.  Then  I  returned  to  do  my  best.  Eask  led 
me  to  where  you  were  ;  thanks  be  to  Heaven,  I  arrived 
in  time  !     You  will  live,  and  so  shall  I.  " 

He  extended  his  hand  to  me,  adding,  "  Brother,  are 
you  satisfied  ?  " 

I  again  clasped  him  to  my  breast;  I  entreated  him 
not  to  leave  me  again,  but  to  remain  with  the  white 
troops,  and  I  promised  him  to  exert  all  my  influence  to 
procure  him  a  commission  in  the  colonial  army. 

But  he  inter- ^  ^ed  me  with  an  angry  air.  "  Brother,  " 
asked  he,  C(  do  I  propose  to  you  to  join  my  army  ?  " 

I  kept  silence,  for  I  felt  that  I  had  been  guilty  of  a 
folly  ;  then  he  added  in  a  tone  of  affected  gaiety,  — 


200  BUG-JARGAL. 

"  Come,  let  us  hurry  to  the  camp  to  reassure  your 
wife.  " 

This  proposal  was  what  I  most  ardently  desired  ;  we 
started  at  once.  The  negro  knew  the  way,  and  took  the 
lead  ;  Eask  followed  us. 

Here  D'Auverney  stopped  suddenly,  and  cast  a  gloomy 
look  around  him  ;  perspiration  in  large  beads  covered  his 
forehead  ;  he  concealed  his  face  with  his  hands.  Eask 
looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  uneasiness. 

"  Yes,  you  may  well  look  at  me  like  that,  "  murmured 
he. 

An  instant  afterwards  he  rose  from  his  seat  in  a  state 
of  violent  agitation,  and  followed  by  the  sergeant  and 
the  dog,  rushed  hurriedly  from  the  tent. 


CHAPTEE   LIV. 

*  T  WILL  lay  a  bet,  "  said  Henri,  "  that  we  are  nearing 

A  the  end  of  the  drama  ;  and  I  should  really  feel  sorry 
if  anything  happened  to  Bug-Jargal,  for  he  was  truly  a 
famous  fellow.  " 

Paschal  removed  from  his  lips  the  mouth  of  his 
wicker-covered  flask,  and  said,  "  I  would  give  twelve 
dozen  of  port  to  have  seen  the  cocoa-nut  cup  that  he 
emptied  at  a  draught.  " 

Alfred,  who  was  gently  humming  the  air  of  a  love- 
song,  interrupted  himself  by  asking  Henri  to  tie  his 
aguilettes  ;  then  he  added  :  "  The  negro  interests  me 
very  much,  but  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  D'Auverney  if 
he  knew  the  air  of  '  Beautiful  Padilla.  '  " 

"  What  a  villain  that  Biassou  was  !  "  continued  Pas- 
chal ;  "  but  for  all  that  he  knew  the  value  of  a  French- 
man's  word!  There  are,  however,  people  more  pitiless 
than  Biassou,  —  my  creditors,  for  instance.  " 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  D'Auverney's  story?" 
asked  Henri. 

"  Ma  foi,  "  answered  Alfred,  "  I  have  not  paid  much 
attention  to  it  ;  but  I  certainly  had  expected  something 
more  interesting  from  D'Auverney 's  lips;  and  then  I 
want  to  know  the  air  to  which  Bug-Jargal  sang  his 
songs.  In  fact,  I  must  admit  that  the  story  has  bored 
me  a  little.  " 

"  You  are  right,  "  returned  Paschal,  the  aide-de-camp. 
"  Had  I  not  had  my  pipe  and  my  bottle,  I  should  have 


202  BUG-JAEGAL. 

passed  but  a  dreary  evening.  Besides,  there  were  a  lot 
of  absurdities  in  it  :  how  can  we  believe,  for  instance, 
that  that  little  thief  of  a  sorcerer  (I  forget  his  name) 
would  have  drowned  himself  for  the  sake  of  destroying 
his  enemy  ?  " 

Henri  interrupted  him  with  a  smile.  "  You  cannot 
understand  any  one  taking  to  vater,  can  you,  Captain 
Paschal  ?  But  what  struck  me  more  than  anything  was, 
that  every  time  D'Auverney  mentioned  the  name  of 
Bug-Jargal,  his  lame  dog  lifted  up  his  head.  " 

The  sound  of  the  sentry  carrying  arms  warned  them 
of  D'Auverney 's  return.  All  remained  silent.  He 
walked  up  and  down  the  tent  for  a  few  moments  with 
folded  arms,  without  a  word. 

Old  Sergeant  Thaddeus,  who  had  returned  with  his 
captain,  bent  over  Eask  and  furtively  caressed  him, 
hoping  by  that  means  to  conceal  his  countenance,  which 
was  full  of  anxiety,  from  the  eyes  of  his  officer.  At 
length,  after  making  a  strong  effort,  D'Auverney  con- 
tinued his  narrative. 


CHAPTEE  LV. 

RASK  followed  us.  The  highest  rock  in  the  valley 
was  not  yet  lighted  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  ;  a 
glimmer  of  light  touched  it  for  an  instant,  and  then 
passed  away. 

The  negro  trembled,  and  grasped  my  hand  firmly. 
"  Listen,  "  said  he. 

A  dull  sound  like  the  discharge  of  a  piece  of  artillery 
was  heard,  and  was  repeated  by  the  echoes  of  the 
valleys. 

"  It  is  the  signal,  "  said  the  negro  in  a  gloomy  voice. 
"  It  was  a  cannon  shot,  was  it  not  ?  " 

I  nodded  in  sign  of  the  affirmative. 

In  two  bounds  he  sprang  to  the  top  of  a  lofty  rock  ;  I 
followed  him.  He  crossed  his  arms  and  smiled  sadly. 
"  Do  you  see  that  ?  "  asked  he. 

I  looked  in  the  direction  to  which  he  pointed  ;  and  on 
the  lofty  peak  to  which  he  had  drawn  my  attention 
during  our  last  interview  with  Marie,  and  which  was 
now  glowing  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  I  saw  a  huge 
black  flag,  its  folds  flapping  idly  in  the  breeze. 

[At  this  point  of  his  recital  D'Auverney  again 
paused.  ] 

I  learned  afterwards  that  Biassou,  in  a  hurry  to  leave 
his  ground,  had  ordered  the  flag  to  be  hoisted  without 
waiting  for  the  return  of  the  negroes  who  had  been 
despatched  to  assist  at  my  execution. 


204  BUG-JARGAL. 

Bug-Jargal  was  still  in  the  same  position,  his  arms 
folded,  and  his  eyes  eagerly  fixed  upon  the  fatal  signal. 
Suddenly  he  started,  and  seemed  about  to  descend  from 
his  post  of  observation.  "  Great  heavens  '  my  unfortu- 
nate comrades  !  "  cried  he.     "  Did  you  hear  the  gun  ?  " 

I  made  no  reply. 

"  It  was  the  signal,  my  brother.  They  are  leading 
them  now  to  the  place  of  execution.  " 

His  head  fell  upon  his  breast  ;  after  a  short  pause,  he 
said  :  "  Go,  brother,  and  rejoin  your  wife  ;  Eask  will 
guide  you  to  her  ;  "  and  he  whistled  an  African  air, 
which  Eask  appeared  to  recognize,  for  he  wagged  his 
tail,   and  seemed  ready  to  set  out. 

Bug-Jargal  grasped  my  hand,  and  strove  to  smile  ; 
but  his  features  were  contracted,  and  his  look  was 
ghastly.  "  Farewell  forever  !  "  cried  he,  and  dashed 
into  the  thicket  by  which  we  were  surrounded. 

I  remained  motionless  ;  the  little  that  I  understood  of 
the  position  made  me  fear  the  worst. 

Eask,  on  seeing  his  master  disappear,  advanced  to 
the  edge  of  the  rock,  and  raising  his  head  uttered  a 
plaintive  howl.  Then  he  turned  to  me  ;  his  tail  was 
between  his  legs  and  his  eyes  were  moist.  He  looked 
at  me  with  an  air  of  inquietude,  and  turned  to  the  spot 
from  which  his  master  had  disappeared,  and  barked  sev- 
eral times.  I  understood  him,  and  shared  his  fears. 
Suddenly  he  dashed  off  in  pursuit  of  his  master,  and  I 
should  soon  have  lost  sight  of  him  had  he  not  every 
now  and  then  halted  to  give  me  time  to  come  up  to  him. 
In  this  manner  we  passed  through  many  a  valley  and 
leafy  glade  ;  we  climbed  hills  and  crossed  streams.  At 
last  — 

D'Auverney's  voice  failed  him,  an  expression  of  de- 
spair covered  his  face,  and  he  could  not  find  words  to 


BUG-JARGAL.  205 

continue  his  narrative.  "  Continue  it,  Thaddeus,  "  said 
he,  "  for  I  can  go  on  no  further.  " 

The  old  sergeant  was  not  less  distressed  than  his 
captain,  but  he  made  an  effort  to  obey  him. 

"  With  your  permission,  gentlemen,  "  said  he,  *  and 
since  it  is  your  wish,  Captain,  I  must  tell  you,  gentle- 
men, that  Bug-Jargal  (otherwise  called  Pierrot)  was  a 
tall  negro,  very  strong,  very  gentle,  and  the  bravest  man 
in  the  world,  —  except  you,  Captain,  if  you  please.  But 
I  was  terribly  prejudiced  against  him, — for  which  I 
will  never  pardon  myself,  though  you,  Captain,  have 
forgiven  me,  —  so  much  so,  that  when  we  heard  that 
your  execution  had  been  fixed  for  the  evening  of  the 
second  day  I  flew  into  a  furious  rage  with  the  poor 
fellow,  and  felt  a  fiendish  pleasure  in  informing  him 
that  his  death  would  pay  for  yours,  or  that  if  he  escaped 
ten  of  his  men  would  be  shot  by  way  of  reprisal.  He 
said  nothing  upon  hearing  this,  but  an  hour  afterwards 
he  made  his  escape  through  a  great  hole  which  he 
pierced  in  the  wall  of  his  prison.  " 

[D'Auverney  made  a  movement  of  impatience,  and 
Thaddeus  continued.] 

"  Well,  when  we  saw  the  great  black  flag  hoisted  on 
the  mountain,  and  as  the  negro  had  not  returned,  —  a 
fact  which  surprised  none  of  us, —  our  officers  ordered  the 
signal  gun  to  be  fired,  and  I  was  directed  to  conduct  the 
ten  negroes  to  the  place  of  execution,  which  was  a  spot 
we  call  the  Devil's  Mouth,  about  —  but  it  does  not 
matter  how  far  it  was  from  the  camp.  Well,  as  you 
can  imagine,  we  did  not  take  them  there  to  set  them  at 
liberty.  I  had  them  bound,  as  is  the  custom,  and 
paraded  my  firing  party,  when  who  should  burst  upon 
us  but  the  tall  negro.  He  was  out  of  breath  with  the 
speed  that  he  had  made. 


206  BUG-JARGAL. 

*  '  Good  evening,  Thaddeus, '  said  he.  'I  am  in 
time.  ' 

"  No,  gentlemen,  he  did  not  utter  another  word,  but 
hastened  to  unbind  his  comrades.  I  stood  there  in  stu- 
pefaction. Then  (with  your  permission,  Captain)  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  generous  argument  between  the  other 
negroes  and  himself,  which  might  have  lasted  longer, 
but  —  well,  it  is  no  good  hiding  the  fact,  it  was  I  that 
stopped  it.  At  any  rate  he  took  their  place.  Then  the 
great  dog  came,  poor  Rask  !  He  leaped  at  my  throat  :  he 
ought  to  have  held  me  longer,  but  Pierrot  made  a  sign 
to  him,  and  the  poor  brute  released  me  ;  but  he  could 
not  he  prevented  from  taking  his  place  at  his  master's 
feet.  Then,  believing  that  you  were  dead,  Captain  — 
well,  I  was  in  a  fine  rage.  I  gave  the  word  ;  Bug- Jargal 
fell,  and  a  bullet  broke  the  dog's  foot. 

"  Since  that  time,  gentlemen,  "  continued  the  sergeant, 
sadly,  "  Rask  has  been  lame.  Then  I  heard  groans  in 
the  adjacent  wood  ;  I  reached  it,  and  found  you  :  a  stray 
bullet  had  hit  you  as  you  were  running  forward  to  save 
the  tall  negro.  Yes,  Captain,  you  were  wounded,  but 
Bug-Jargal  was  dead  ! 

"  We  carried  you  back  to  the  camp  ;  you  were  not 
dangerously  wounded,  and  the  doctors  soon  cured  you  ; 
but  I  believe  Madame  Marie's  nursing  had  a  good  deal 
to  do  with  it.  " 

The  sergeant  stopped  in  his  story,  and  D'Auverney, 
in  a  solemn  voice,  added  :  "  Bug-Jargal  was  dead  !  " 

Thaddeus  bowed  his  head.  "  Yes,  "  said  he,  "  he 
spared  my  life,  and  I  —  I  killed  him.  " 


H 

«J 


EPILOGUE. 

THE  reader,  in  general,  is  seldom  satisfied  with  the 
conclusion  of  a  narrative  unless  it  enters  into 
every  detail  in  winding  up  the  story.  For  this  reason 
the  minutest  researches  have  been  made  into  the  facts 
having  reference  to  the  concluding  details  of  the  last 
scenes  of  Leopold  d'Auverney's  life,  as  well  as  those  of 
his  sergeant  and  the  dog  Eask. 

The  reader  is  already  aware  that  the  captain's  feelings 
of  melancholy  arose  partly  from  the  death  of  Bug-Jargal, 
otherwise  called  Pierrot  ;  but  he  is  not  acquainted  with 
the  fact  that  those  feelings  were  terribly  increased  by 
the  loss  of  his  beloved  Marie,  —  who,  after  having  been 
preserved  from  the  horrors  that  attended  the  taking  of 
Fort  Galifet,  perished  in  the  burning  of  Cap,  which 
took  place  some  weeks  later. 

The  fate  of  Leopold  d'Auverney  may  be  briefly  reca- 
pitulated. A  great  victory  had  been  won  by  the  Ee- 
publican  forces  against  one  of  those  united  European 
armies  which  so  often  struggled  vainly  against  our  sol- 
diers ;  and  the  General  of  Division,  who  was  in  com- 
mand of  the  entire  force,  was  seated  in  his  tent  drawing 
up,  from  the  reports  of  his  staff,  the  bulletin  which  was 
to  be  sent  to  the  National  Convention  concerning  the 
victory  of  the  day  before.  As  he  was  thus  occupied,  an 
aide-de-camp  announced  to  him  the  arrival  of  a  Eepresen- 
tative  of  the  People,  who  demanded  an  audience.  The 
general   loathed   these   ambassadors   of   the   guillotine, 


208  £UG-JAKGAL. 

who  were  sent  by  the  party  of  the  Mountain  to  humili- 
ate the  military  officers,  and  too  often  to  demand  the 
heads  of  the  most  gallant  of  the  men  who  had  fought 
bravely  for  the  Republic, — ■  looking  upon  them  as  char- 
tered informers  charged  with  the  hateful  mission  of 
spying  upon  glory.  But  it  would  have  been  dangerous 
for  him  to  refuse  to  admit  him,  especially  after  such  a 
victory  as  had  resulted  to  the  arms  of  the  Eepublic. 
The  gory  idol  which  France  had  then  set  up  almost  in- 
variably demanded  victims  of  the  highest  lineage  ;  and 
the  executioners  of  the  Place  de  la  Revolution  were  de- 
lighted if  they  could  at  the  same  time  cause  a  head  and 
a  coronet  to  fall,  —  were  it  one  of  thorns,  like  that  of 
Louis  XVI.  ;  of  flowers,  like  those  of  the  girls  of  Verdun  ; 
or  of  laurels  like  those  of  Custine  or  of  André  Chénier. 
The  general,  therefore,  gave  immediate  orders  that  the 
Representative  of  the  People  should  be  introduced  to 
his  presence. 

After  a  few  clumsy  congratulations  regarding  the 
recent  victory,  the  Representative  of  the  People  came 
up  close  to  the  general,  and  muttered  in  a  suppressed 
voice  :  "  But  this  is  not  all,  Citizen  General  ;  it  is  not 
enough  to  destroy  the  foreign  enemy, —  those  nearer 
home  must  be  also  crushed.  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Citizen  Representative  ?  "  asked 
the  astonished  general. 

"  There  is  in  your  division,  "  answered  the  emissary 
of  the  Convention,  in  an  unpleasant  manner,  "  a  captain 
named  Leopold  d'Auverney,  who  is  serving  in  the 
Thirty-second  Brigade  ;  do  you  know  him,   General  ?  " 

"  Know  him  !  certainly  I  do,  "  replied  the  general  ; 
"  only  as  you  came  in  I  was  reading  the  report  of  the 
adjutant-general  which  refers  to  him.  The  Thirty- 
second  Brigade  had  in  him  an  excellent  officer,  and  I 
was  about  to  recommend  him  for  promotion.  * 


BUG-JARGAX.  209 

"  What,  Citizen  General  !  "  interposed  the  represen- 
tative, harshly,  "  were  you  thinking  of  promoting 
him  ?  " 

"  Such  was  most  certainly  my  intention,  citizen.  " 

"  Victory  has  blinded  you,  General,  "  cried  the  repre- 
sentative, imperiously  ;  "  take  care  what  you  say  or  do. 
If  you  cherish  serpents  who  are  the  enemies  of  the 
people,  take  care  that  the  people  do  not  crush  you  and 
the  serpents  at  the  same  moment.  This  Leopold  d'Au- 
verney  is  an  aristocrat,  a  hater  of  the  revolution,  a 
royalist,  a  Girondin  !  Public  justice  demands  his  head, 
and  he  must  be  given  up  to  me  on  the  spot.  " 

"  I  cannot  do  so,  "  replied  the  general,  coldly. 

"  How  !  you  cannot  do  so  ?  "  shouted  the  representa- 
tive, whose  rage  was  redoubled  at  this  opposition. 
"  Are  you  ignorant,  General,  of  the  extent  of  my  power  ? 
I,  in  the  name  of  the  Eepublic,  command  you,  and  you 
have  no  option  but  to  obey.  Listen  to  me  :  in  consider- 
ation of  your  recent  success,  I  will  read  you  the  report 
which  has  been  handed  in  regarding  this  D'Auverney, 
and  which  I  shall  send  with  him  to  the  Public  Prosecu- 
tor :  'Leopold  Auverney  (formerly  known  as  D'Auver- 
ney), captain  in  the  Thirty-second  Brigade,  is  convicted 
of  having,  at  a  meeting  of  conspirators,  narrated  an  anti- 
revolutionary  tale,  conducing  to  the  ridicule  of  the  true 
principles  of  Equality  and  Liberty,  and  exalting  the 
worn-out  superstitions  known  under  the  names  of  roy- 
alty and  religion;  convicted,  secondly,  of  having  used, 
expressions  deservedly  forbidden  by  all  good  republi- 
cans, to  describe  certain  recent  events,  notably  those  refer- 
ring to  the  negroes  of  St.  Domingo  ;  convicted,  thirdly, 
of  having  made  use  of  the  expression  Monsieur  instead 
of  Citizen  during  the  whole  of  his  narrative  ;  and,  by  the 
said  narrative,  of  having  endeavoured  to  bring  into 
contempt  the  Eepublic  one  and  indivisible,   and  also 


210  BUG-JARGAL. 

to  propagate  the  infamous  doctrines  of  the  Girondins. f 
Death  is  the  punishment  for  these  crimes,  and  I  demand 
his  body.  Do  you  hesitate,  General,  to  hand  this 
traitor  over  to  me,  to  meet  the  well-merited  punish- 
ment of  his  crimes  ?  " 

"  Citizen,  "  answered  the  general,  with  dignity,  "  this 
enemy  of  his  country  has  given  his  life  for  her.  As  a 
contrast  to  your  report,  listen  to  an  extract  from  mine  : 
'  Leopold  d'Auverney,  captain  in  the  Thirty-second  Bri- 
gade, has  contributed  largely  to  the  success  that  our 
arms  have  obtained.  A  formidable  earthwork  had  been 
erected  by  the  allies  ;  it  was  the  key  to  their  position, 
and  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  carry  it  at  the  point 
of  the  bayonet.  It  was  an  almost  impregnable  position, 
and  the  death  of  the  stormers  who  led  the  attack  was 
almost  inevitable.  Captain  d'Auverney  volunteered  to 
lead  the  forlorn  hope  ;  he  carried  the  earthwork,  but 
was  shot  down  at  the  moment  of  victory.  Sergeant 
Thaddeus  of  the  Thirty -second,  and  a  large  dog  were 
found  dead  within  a  few  paces  of  him.  '  It  was  my  in- 
tention to  propose  that  the  National  Convention  should 
pass  a  vote  that  Captain  Leopold  d'Auverney  had 
merited  the  thanks  of  his  country.  You  see,  Citizen 
Eepresentative,  "  continued  the  general,  calmly,  "  that 
our  duties  differ  slightly.  We  both  send  a  report  to  the 
Convention.  The  same  name  appears  in  each  list  :  you 
denounce  him  as  a  traitor,  I  hold  him  up  to  posterity 
as  a  hero  ;  you  devote  him  to  ignominy,  I  to  glory  ;  you 
would  erect  a  scaffold  for  him,  while  I  propose  a  statue 
in  his  honour.  He  is  fortunate  in  having,  by  death  in 
action,  escaped  the  infamy  you  proposed  for  him.  He 
whose  death  you  desired  is  dead  ;  he  has  not  waited  for 
you.  " 

Furious  at  seeing  his  conspiracy  disappear  with  the 


BUG-JARGAL.  211 

conspirator,  the  Eepresentative  muttered,  "  Dead,  is  he  ? 
More  's  the  pity  !  " 

The  general  caught  his  words,  and  in  indignant  tones 
exclaimed  :  "  There  is  still  something  left  for  you,  Citi- 
zen Eepresentative.  Qo  seek  for  the  body  of  Captain 
d'Auverney  among  the  ruins  of  the  redoubt.  Who  can 
tell  if  the  bullets  of  the  enemy  may  not  have  spared  his 
head  for  his  country's  guillotine  ?  " 


CLAUDE    GUEUX. 


CLAUDE   GUEUX. 


CLAUDE  GUEUX  was  a  poor  workman,  living  in 
Paris  about  eight  years  ago,  with  his  mistress  and 
child.  Although  his  education  had  been  neglected,  and 
he  could  not  even  read,  the  man  was  naturally  clever 
and  intelligent,  and  thought  deeply  over  matters.  Win- 
ter came  with  its  attendant  miseries,  —  want  of  work, 
want  of  food,  want  of  fuel.  The  man,  the  woman,  and 
the  child  were  frozen  and  famished.  The  man  turned 
thief.  I  know  not  what  he  stole.  What  signifies,  as 
the  result  was  the  same  :  to  the  woman  and  child  it  gave 
three  days'  bread  and  warmth;  to  the  man,  five  years' 
imprisonment.  He  was  taken  to  Clairvaux, —  the  abbey 
now  converted  into  a  prison,  its  cells  into  dungeons, 
and  the  altar  itself  into  a  pillory.  This  is  called 
progress. 

Claude  Gueux  the  honest  workman,  who  turned  thief 
from  force  of  circumstances,  had  a  countenance  which 
impressed  you,  —  a  high  forehead  somewhat  lined  with 
care,  dark  hair  already  streaked  with  gray,  deep-set  eyes 
beaming  with  kindness,  while  the  lower  part  clearly 
indicated  firmness  mingled  with  self-respect.  He  rarely 
spoke,  yet  there  was  a  certain  dignity  in  the  man  which 
commanded  respect  and  obedience.  A  fine  character, 
and  we  shall  see  what  society  made  of  it. 

Over  the  prison  workshop  was  an  inspector,  who 
rarely  forgot  that  he  was  the  jailer  also  to  his  subordi- 


4  CLAUDE  GUEUX. 

nates,  handing  them  the  tools  with  one  hand,  and  cast- 
ing chains  upon  them  with  the  other.  A  tyrant,  never 
using  even  self -reasoning  ;  with  ideas  against  which 
there  was  no  appeal  :  hard  rather  than  firm,  at  times  he 
could  even  be  jocular, —  doubtless  a  good  father,  a  good 
husband,  really  not  vicious,  but  had.  He  was  one  of 
those  men  who  never  can  grasp  a  fresh  idea,  who  appar- 
ently fail  to  be  moved  by  any  emotj.on  ;  yet  with  hatred 
and  rage  in  their  hearts  they  look  like  blocks  of  wood, 
heated  on  the  one  side  but  frozen  on  the  other.  This 
man's  chief  characteristic  was  obstinacy;  and  so  proud 
was  he  of  this  very  stubbornness  that  he  compared  himself 
with  Napoleon,  —  an  optical  delusion,  like  taking  the 
mere  nicker  of  a  candle  for  a  star.  When  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  a  thing,  however  absurd,  he  would  carry 
out  that  absurd  idea,  How  often  it  happens,  that,  when  a 
catastrophe  occurs,  if  we  inquire  into  the  cause  we  find 
it  originated  through  the  obstinacy  of  one  with  little 
ability,  but  having  full  faith  in  his  own  powers. 

Such  was  the  inspector  of  the  prison  workshop  at 
Clairvaux, —  a  man  of  flint  placed  by  society  over  others, 
who  hoped  to  strike  sparks  out  of  such  material  ;  but  a 
spark  from  a  like  source  is  apt  to  end  in  a  conflagration. 

The  inspector  soon  singled  out  Claude  Gueux,  who 
had  been  numbered  and  placed  in  the  workshop,  and 
finding  him  clever,  treated  him  well.  Seeing  Claude 
looking  sad  (for  he  was  ever  thinking  of  her  he  termed 
his  wife),  and  being  in  a  good  humour,  by  way  of  pastime 
to  console  the  prisoner  he  told  him  the  woman  had  be- 
come one  of  the  unfortunate  sisterhood,  and  had  been  re- 
duced to  infamy  ;  of  the  child  nothing  was  known. 

After  a  time  Claude  had  accustomed  himself  to  prison 
rule,  and  by  his  calmness  of  manner  and  a  certain 
amount  of  resolution  clearly  marked  in  his  face,  he  had 
acquired  a  great  ascendency  over  his  companions,  who 


JLAUDE  GUEUX.  5 

so  much  admired  him  that  they  asked  his  advice,  and 
tried  in  all  ways  to  imitate  him.  The  very  expression 
in  his  eyes  clearly  indicated  the  man's  character;  be- 
sides, is  not  the  eye  the  window  to  the  soul,  and  what 
other  result  could  be  anticipated  than  that  the  intelli- 
gent spirit  Should  lead  men  with  few  ideas,  who  yielded 
to  the  attraction  as  the  metal  does  to  the  loadstone  ?  In 
less  than  three  months  Claude  was  the  virtual  head  of 
the  workshop,  and  at  times  he  almost  doubted  whether 
he  was  king  or  prisoner,  being  treated  something  like  a 
captive  pope,  surrounded  by  his  cardinals. 

Such  popularity  ever  has  its  attendant  hatred  ;  and 
though  beloved  by  the  prisoners,  Claude  was  detested 
by  the  jailers.  To  him  two  men's  rations  would  have 
been  scarcely  sufficient.  The  inspector  laughed  at  this, 
as  his  own  appetite  was  large  ;  but  what  would  be  mirth 
to  a  duke,  to  a  prisoner  would  be  a  great  misfortune. 
When  a  free  man,  Claude  Gueux  could  earn  his  daily 
four-pound  loaf  and  enjoy  it;  but  as  a  prisoner  he  daily 
worked,  and  for  his  labour  received  one  pound  and  a- 
half  of  bread  and  four  ounces  of  meat  :  it  naturally  fol- 
lowed that  he  was  always  hungry. 

He  had  just  finished  his  meagre  fare,  and  was  about 
to  resume  his  labours,  hoping  in  work  to  forget  famine, 
when  a  weakly-looking  young  man  came  towards  him, 
holding  a  knife  and  his  untasted  rations  in  his  hand, 
but  seemingly  afraid  to  address  him. 

'•  What  do  you  want  ?  "  said  Claude,  roughly. 

"  A  favour  at  your  hands,  "  timidly  replied  the  young 
man. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Claude. 

"  Help  me  with  my  rations  ;  I  have  more  than  I  can  eat.  " 

For  a  moment  Claude  was  taken  aback,  but  without 
further  ceremony  he  divided  the  food  in  two  and  at  once 
partook  of  one  half. 


6  CLAUDE  GUEUX. 

"  Thank  you,  "  said  the  young  man  ;  "  allow  me  to 
share  my  rations  with  you  every  day.  " 

t  What  is  your  name  ?  "  said  Claude. 

"  Albin.  " 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?  "  added  Claude. 

"  I  robbed.  " 

"  So  did  I,  "  said  Claude. 

The  same  scene  took  place  daily  between  this  man  old 
before  his  time  (he  was  only  thirty-six)  and  the  boy  of 
twenty,  who  looked  at  the  most  seventeen.  The  feeling 
was  more  like  that  of  father  and  son  than  one  brother  to 
another;  everything  created  a  bond  of  union  between 
them,  — •  the  very  toil  they  endured  together,  the  fact  of 
sleeping  in  the  same  quarters  and  taking  exercise  in  the 
same  courtyard.  They  were  happy,  for  were  they  not 
all  the  world  to  each  other  ? 

The  inspector  of  the  workshop  was  so  hated  by  the 
prisoners  that  he  often  had  recourse  to  Claude  Gueux  to 
enforce  his  authority;  and  when  a  tumult  was  on  the 
point  of  breaking  out,  a  few  words  from  Claude  had 
more  effect  than  the  authority  of  ten  warders.  Although 
the  inspector  was  glad  to  avail  himself  of  this  influence, 
he  was  jealous  all  the  same,  and  hated  the  superior  prisoner 
with  an  envious  and  implacable  feeling,  —  an  example  of 
might  over  right,  all  the  more  fearful  as  it  was  secretly 
nourished.  But  Claude  cared  so  much  for  Albin  that 
he  thought  little  about  the  inspector. 

One  morning  as  the  warders  were  going  their  rounds 
one  of  them  summoned  Albin,  who  was  working  with 
Claude,  to  go  before  the  inspector. 

"  What  are  you  wanted  for  ?  "  said  Claude. 

"  I  do  not  know,  *  replied  Albin,  following  the 
warder. 

All  day  Claude  looked  in  vain  for  his  companion,  and 
at  night,  finding  him  still  absent,  he  broke  through  his 


CLAUDE   GUEUX.  i 

ordinary  reserve  and  addressed  the  turnkey.  "  Is  Albin 
ill  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No,  "  replied  the  man. 

"  How  is  it  that  he  has  never  put  in  an  appearance 
to-day  ?  " 

"His  quarters  have  been  changed,  "  was  the  reply. 

For  a  moment  Claude  trembled,  then  calmly  con- 
tinued, "  Who  gave  the  order  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  D .  "     This  was  the  inspector's  name. 

On    the    following    night    the   inspector,    Monsieur 

D ,   went  his   rounds  as  usual.      Claude,    who  had 

perceived  him  from  the  distance,  rose,  and  hastened  to 
raise  his  woollen  cap  and  button  his  gray  woollen  vest 
to  the  throat,  —  considered  a  mark  of  respect  to  supe- 
riors in  prison  discipline. 

"  Sir,  "  said  Claude,  as  the  inspector  was  about  to  pass 
him,  "  has  Albin  really  been  quartered  elsewhere  ?  " 

"  Yes,  "  replied  the  inspector. 

"  Sir,  I  cannot  live  without  him.  You  know  the  ra- 
tions are  insufficient  for  me,  and  Albin  divided  his 
portion  with  me.  Could  you  not  manage  to  let  him 
resume  his  old  place  near  me?" 

"  Impossible  ;  the  order  cannot  be  revoked.  " 

"  By  whom  was  it  given  ?  " 

"  By  me.  " 

"  Monsieur  D ,  "  replied  Claude,  "  on  you  my  life 

depends.  " 

"  I  never  cancel  an  order  once  given.  " 

"  Sir,  what  have  I  ever  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  " 

"  Why,  then,  "  cried  Claude,  "  separate  me  from 
Albin  ?  " 

"  Because  I  do,  "replied  the  inspector,  and  with  that 
he  passed  on. 

Claude's  head  sank  down,   like  the  poor  caged  lion 


8  CLAUDE  GUEUX. 

deprived  of  his  dog;  but  the  grief,  though  so  deeply 
felt,  in  no  way  changed  his  appetite,  —  he  was  fam- 
ished. Many  offered  to  share  their  rations  with  him, 
but  he  steadily  refused,  and  continued  his  usual  routine 
in  silence,  —  breaking  it  only  to  ask  the  inspector  daily, 
in  tones  of  anguish  mingled  with  rage,  something  be- 
tween a  prayer  and  a  threat,  these  two  words  :  "  And 
Albin  ?  " 

The  inspector  simply  passed  on,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders ;  but  had  he  only  observed  Claude  he  would  have 
seen  the  evident  change,  noticeable  to  all  present,  and 
he  would  have  heard  these  words,  spoken  respectfully 
but  firmly  :  — 

"  Sir,  listen  to  me  ;  send  my  companion  to  me.  It 
would  be  wise  to  do  so,  I  can  assure  you.  Eemember 
my  words  !  " 

On  Sunday  he  had  sat  for  hours  in  the  courtyard,  with 
his  head  bowed  in  his  hands,  and  when  a  prisoner  called 
Faillette  came  up  laughing,  Claude  said  :  "  I  am  judging 
some  one.  " 

On  the  25th  of  October,  1831,  as  the  inspector  went 
his  rounds,  Claude,  to  draw  his  attention,  smashed  a 
watch-glass  he  had  found  in  the  passage.  This  had 
the  desired  effect. 

"  It  was  I,  "  said  Claude.  "  Sir,  restore  my  comrade 
to  me.  " 

"  Impossible,  "  was  the  answer. 

Looking  the  inspector  full  in  the  face,  Claude  firmly 
added:  "Now,  reflect!  To-day  is  the  25th  of  October; 
I  give  you  till  the  4th  of  November.  " 

A  warder  remarked  that  Claude  was  threatening 
Monsieur  D ,  and  ought  at  once  to  be  locked  up. 

"  No,  it  is  not  a  case  of  blackhole,  "  replied  the  in- 
spector, smiling  disdainfully  ;  "  we  must  be  considerate 
with  people  of  this  stamp.  " 


CLAUDE  GUEUX.  9 

The  following  day  Claude  was  again  accosted  by 
one  of  the  prisoners  named  Pernot,  as  he  was  brooding 
in  the  courtyard. 

"  Well,  Claude,  you  are  sad  indeed  ;  what  are  you 
pondering  over  ?  " 

"  I  fear  some  evil  threatens  that  good  Monsieui 
D ,  "  answered  Claude. 

Claude  daily  impressed  the  fact  on  the  inspector  how 
much  Albin  's  absence  affected  him,  but  with  no  result 
save  four-and-twenty  hours'  solitary  confinement.  On 
the  4th  of  November  he  looked  round  his  cell  for  the 
little  that  remained  to  remind  him  of  his  former  life. 
A  pair  of  scissors,  and  an  old  volume  of  the  "  Emile,  " 
belonging  to  the  woman  he  had  loved  so  well,  the 
mother  of  his  child,  —  how  useless  to  a  man  who  could 
neither  work  nor  read  ! 

As  Claude  walked  down  the  old  cloisters,  so  dishon- 
oured by  its  new  inmates  and  its  fresh  whitewashed 
walls,  he  noticed  how  earnestly  the  convict  Ferrari  was 
looking  at  the  heavy  iron  bars  that  crossed  the  window, 
and  he  said  to  him  :  "  To-night  I  will  cut  through  those 
bars  with  these  scissors,  "  pointing  to  the  pair  he  still 
held  in  his  hand. 

Ferrari  laughed  incredulously,  and  Claude  joined  in 
the  mirth.  During  the  day  he  worked  with  more  than 
ordinary  ardour,  wishing  to  finish  a  straw  hat,  which  he 
had  been  paid  for  in  advance  by  a  tradesman  at  Troyes, 
—  M.  Bressier. 

Shortly  before  noon  he  made  some  excuse  to  go 
down  into  the  carpenters'  quarters,  a  story  below  his 
own,  at  the  time  the  warders  were  absent.  Claude  re- 
ceived a  hearty  welcome,  as  he  was  equally  populai 
here  as  elsewhere. 

"  Can  any  one  lend  me  an  axe  ?  "  he  said. 

"What  for?" 


10  CLAUDE  GUEUX, 

Without  exacting  any  promises  of  secrecy  he  at  once 
replied  :  "  To  kill  the  inspector  with  to-night.  " 

Claude  was  at  once  offered  several;  choosing  the 
smallest,  he  hid  it  beneath  his  waistcoat  and  left. 
Now,  there  were  twenty-seven  prisoners  present,  and 
not  one  of  those  men  betrayed  him  ;  they  even  refrained 
from  talking  upon  the  subject  among  themselves,  wait- 
ing for  the  terrible  event  which  must  iollow. 

As  Claude  passed  on  he  saw  a  young  convict  of  six- 
teen yawning  idly  there,  and  he  strongly  advised  him 
to  learn  how  to  read.  Just  then  Faillette  asked  what 
he  was  hiding. 

Claude  answered  unhesitatingly  :  "  An  axe  to  kill 
Monsieur  D to-night  ;  but  can  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  said  Faillette. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  prisoners  were  locked  in  their 
several  workshops.  It  was  then  the  custom  for  the 
warders  to  leave  them,  until  the  inspector  had  been  his 
rounds. 

In  Claude's  workshop  a  most  extraordinary  scene 
took  place,  the  only  one  of  the  kind  on  record.  Claude 
rose  and  addressed  his  companions,  eighty -four  in  num- 
ber, in  the  following  words  : — • 

"  You  all  know  Albin  and  I  were  like  brothers.  I  liked 
him  at  first  for  sharing  his  rations  with  me,  afterwards 
because  he  cared  for  me.  Now  I  never  have  sufficient, 
though  I  spend  the  pittance  I  earn  in  bread.  It  could 
make  no  possible  difference  to  the  inspector,  Monsieur 

D ,  that  we  should  be  together;    but  he  chose  to 

separate  us  simply  from  a  love  of  tormenting,  for  he  is 
a  bad  man.  I  asked  again  and  again  for  Albin  to  be 
sent  back,  without  success  ;  and  when  I  gave  him  a 
stated  time,  the  4th  of  November,  I  was  thrust  into  a 
dungeon.  During  that  time  I  became  his  judge,  and 
sentenced  him  to  death  on  November  the  4th.     In  two 


Claude  Gueux  addressing. his  Companions. 


CLAUDE  GUEUX  11 

hours  lie  will  be  here,  and  I  warn  you  I  intend  to  kilJ 
him.     But  have  you  anything  to  say  ?  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Claude  then  continued 
telling  his  comrades,  the  eighty-one  thieves,  his  ideas 
on  the  subject,  — that  he  was  reduced  to  a  fearful  ex- 
tremity, and  compelled  by  that  very  necessity  to  take 
the  law  into  his  own  hands  ;  that  he  knew  full  well  he 
could  not  take  the  inspector's  life  without  sacrificing 
his  own,  but  that  as  the  cause  was  a  just  one  he  would 
bear  the  consequences,  having  come  to  this  conclusion 
after  two  months'  calm  reflection;  that  if  they  consid- 
ered resentment  alone  hurried  him  on  to  such  a  step 
they  were  at  once  to  say  so,  and  to  state  their  objections 
to  the  sentence  being  carried  out. 

One  voice  alone  broke  the  silence  which  followed, 
saying,  "  Before  killing  the  inspector,  Claude  ought  to 
give  him  a  chance  of  relenting.  " 

"  That  is  but  just,  "  said  Claude,  "  and  he  shall  have 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  " 

Claude  then  sorted  the  few  things  a  poor  prisoner  is 
allowed,  and  gave  them  to  the  comrades  he  mostly  cared 
for  after  Albin,  keeping  only  the  pair  of  scissors.  He 
then  embraced  them  all,  —  some  not  being  able  to  with- 
hold their  tears  at  such  a  moment.  Claude  continued 
calmly  to  converse  during  this  last  hour,  and  even  gave 
way  to  a  trick  he  had  as  a  boy,  of  extinguishing  the 
candle  with  a  breath  from  his  nose.  Seeing  him  thus, 
his  companions  afterwards  owned  that  they  hoped  he 
had  abandoned  his  sinister  idea.  One  young  convict 
looked  at  him  fixedly,  trembling  for  the  coming  event. 

"  Take  courage,  young  fellow,  "  said  Claude,  gently  ; 
':  it  will  be  but  the  work  of  a  minute.  " 

The  workshop  was  a  long  room  with  a  door  at  both 
ends,  and  with  windows  each  side  overlooking  the 
benches,  thus  leaving  a  pathway  up  the  centre  for  the 


12  CLAUDE   GUEUX. 

inspector  to  review  the  work  on  both  sides  of  him. 
Claude  had  now  resumed  his  work,  —  something  like 
Jacques  Clement,  who  did  not  fail  to  repeat  his  prayers. 

As  the  clock  sounded  the  last  quarter  to  nine,  Claude 
rose  and  placed  himself  near  the  entrance,  apparently 
calm.  Amidst  the  most  profound  silence  the  clock 
Struck  nine  ;  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  the  in- 
spector came  in  as  usual  alone,  looking  quite  jovial  and 
self-satisfied,  passing  rapidly  along,  tossing  his  head  at 
one,  grinding  words  out  to  another,  little  heeding  the 
eyes  fixed  so  fiercely  upon  him.  Just  then  he  heard 
Claude's  step,  and  turning  quickly  round  said, — 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Why  are  you  not  in 
your  place  ?  "  just  as  he  would  have  spoken  to  a  dog. 

Claude  answered  respectfully,  "  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you,  sir.  " 

"  On  what  subject  ?  " 

"  Albin.  " 

"  Again  !  " 

"  Always  the  same,  "  said  Claude. 

"  So  then,  "  replied  the  inspector,  walking  along, 
"you  have  not  had  enough  with  twenty-four  hours  in 
the  blackhole.  " 

Claude,  following  him  closely,  replied  :  "  Sir,  return 
my  companion  to  me  !  " 

"  Impossible  !  " 

"  Sir,  "  continued  Claude,  in  a  voice  which  would 
have  moved  Satan,  "  I  implore  you  to  send  Albin  back 
to  me;  you  will  then  see  how  I  will  work.  You  are 
free,  and  it  would  matter  but  little  to  you  ;  you  do  not 
know  the  feeling  of  having  only  one  friend.  To  me  it 
is  everything,  encircled  by  the  prison  walls.  You  can 
come  and  go  at  your  pleasure  ;  I  have  but  Albin.  Pray 
let  him  come  back  to  me  !  You  know  well  he  shared 
his  food  with  me.     What  can  it  matter  to  you  that  & 


CLAUDE  GUEUX.  13 

man  named  Claude  Gueux  should  be  in  this  hall,  having 
another  by  his  side  called  Albin  ?  You  have  but  to  say 
'  Yes,  '  nothing  more.  Sir,  my  good  sir,  I  implore  you, 
in  the  name  of  Heaven,  to  grant  my  prayer  !  " 

Claude,  overcome  with  emotion,  waited  for  the  answer. 

a  Impossible  !  "  replied  the  inspector,  impatiently  ; 
"  I  will  not  recall  my  words.  Now  go,  you  annoyance  !" 
And  with  that  he  hurried  on  towards  the  outer  door, 
amidst  the  breathless  silence  maintained  by  the  eighty- 
one  thieves. 

Claude,  following  and  touching  the  inspector,  gently 
asked  :  "  Let  me  at  least  know  why  I  am  condemned  to 
death.     Why  did  you  separate  us  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  answered  you  :  because  I  chose,  "  re- 
plied the  inspector. 

With  that  he  was  about  to  lift  the  latch,  when  Claude 
raised  the  axe,  and  without  one  cry  the  inspector  fell  to 
the  ground,  with  his  skull  completely  cloven  from  three 
heavy  blows  dealt  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  A 
fourth  completely  disfigured  his  face,  and  Claude,  in 
his  mad  fury,  gave  another  and  a  useless  blow  ;  for  the 
inspector  was  dead. 

Claude,  throwing  the  axe  aside,  cried  out,  "  Now  for 
the  other  S  " 

The  other  was  himself;  and  taking  the  scissors,  his 
wife's,  he  plunged  them  into  his  breast.  But  the  blade 
was  short,  and  the  chest  was  deep,  and  vainly  he  strove 
to  give  the  fatal  blow.  At  last,  covered  with  blood  he 
fell  fainting  across  the  dead.  Which  of  the  two  would 
be  considered  the  victim  ? 

When  Claude  recovered  consciousness  he  was  in  bed, 
surrounded  by  every  care  and  covered  with  bandages. 
Near  him  were  Sisters  of  Charity,  and  a  recorder  ready  to 
take  down  his  deposition,  who  with  much  interest  in- 
quired how  he  was.     Claude  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood; 


14  CLAUDE  GUEUX. 

but  the  scissors  had  done  him  a  bad  turn,  inflicting 
wounds  not  one  of  which  was  dangerous  :  the  only 
mortal  blows  he  had  struck  were  on  the  body  of  Mon- 
sieur D- .      Then  the  interrogatory  commenced. 

"  Did  you  kill  the  inspector  of  the  prison  workshops 
at  Clairvaux  ?  " 

"  Yes,  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Why  did  you  do  so  ?  " 

"  Because  I  did.  " 

Claude's  wounds  now  assumed  a  more  serious  aspect, 
and  he  was  prostrated  with  a  fever  which  threatened  his 
life.  November,  December,  January,  February  passed, 
in  nursing  and  preparations,  and  Claude  in  turn  was 
visited  by  doctor  and  judge,  — the  one  to  restore  him  to 
health,  the  other  to  glean  the  evidence  needful  to  send 
him  to  the  scaffold. 

On  the  16th  of  March,  1832,  perfectly  cured,  Claude 
appeared  in  court  at  Troyes,  to  answer  the  charge 
brought  against  him.  His  appearance  impressed  the 
court  favourably  ;  he  had  been  shaved  and  stood  bare- 
headed, but  still  clad  in  prison  garb.  The  court  was 
well  guarded  by  a  strong  military  guard,  to  keep  the 
witnesses  within  bounds,  as  they  were  all  convicts. 
But  an  unexpected  difficulty  occurred  :  not  one  of  these 
men  would  give  evidence  ;  neither  questions  nor  threats 
availed  to  make  them  break  their  silence,  until  Claude 
requested  them  to  do  so.  Then  they  in  turn  gave  a 
faithful  account  of  the  terrible  event  ;  and  if  one,  from 
forgetfulness  or  affection  for  the  accused,  failed  to  re- 
late the  whole  facts,  Claude  supplied  the  deficiency. 
At  one  time  the  women's  tears  fell  fast. 

The  usher  now  called  the  convict  Albin.  He  came 
in  trembling  with  emotion  and  sobbing  painfully,  and 
threw  himself  into  Claude's  arms.  Turning  to  the  Pub- 
lic Prosecutor,  Claude  said,  — ■ 


CLAUDE   GUEUX.  15 

"  Here  is  a  convict  who  gives  his  food  to  the  hungry,  " 
and  stooping,  he  kissed  Albin  's  hand. 

All  the  witnesses  having  been  examined,  the  counsel 
for  the  prosecution  then  rose  to  address  the  court. 
"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  society  would  be  utterly  put  to 
confusion  if  a  public  prosecution  did  not  condemn  great 
culprits  like  him,  who,  etc.  " 

After  the  long  address  by  the  prosecution,  Claude's 
counsel  rose.  Then  followed  the  usual  pleading  for  and 
against,  which  ever  takes  place  at  the  criminal  court. 

Claude  in  his  tarn  gave  evidence,  and  every  one  was 
astonished  at  his  intelligence  ;  there  appeared  far  more 
of  the  orator  about  this  poor  workman  than  the  assassin. 
In  a  clear  and  straightforward  way  he  detailed  the  facts 
as  they  were,  —  standing  proudly  there,  resolved  to  tell 
the  whole  truth.  At  times  the  crowd  was  carried  away 
by  his  eloquence.  This  man,  who  could  not  read,  would 
grasp  the  most  difficult  points  of  argument,  yet  treat  the 
judges  with  all  due  deference.  Once  Claude  lost  his 
temper,  when  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  stated  that 
he  had  assassinated  the  inspector  without  provocation. 

"  What!  "  cried  Claude,  "  I  had  no  provocation  ?  In- 
deed !  A  drunkard  strikes  me, —  I  kill  him;  then  you 
would  allow  there  was  provocation,  and  the  penalty  of 
death  would  be  changed  for  that  of  the  galleys.  But  a 
man  who  wounds  me  in  every  way  during  four  years, 
humiliates  me  for  four  years,  taunts  me  daily,  hourly, 
for  four  years,  and  heaps  every  insult  on  my  head,— 
what  follows  ?  You  consider  I  have  had  no  provocation  ! 
I  had  a  wife  for  whom  I  robbed, —  he  tortured  me  about 
her.  I  had  a  child  for  whom  I  robbed,  —  he  taunted  me 
about  this  child.  I  was  hungry,  a  friend  shared  his 
bread  with  me,  —  he  took  away  my  friend.  I  begged 
him  to  return  my  friend  to  me,  —  he  cast  me  into  a  dun- 
geon.    I  told  him  how  much  I  suffered,  —  he  said  it 


16  CLAUDE  GUEUX. 

wearied  him  to  listen.  What  then  would  you  have  me 
do  ?  I  took  his  life  ;  and  you  look  upon  me  as  a  mon- 
ster for  killing  this  man,  and  you  decapitate  me  :  then 
do  so." 

Provocation  such  as  this  the  law  fails  to  acknowl- 
edge, because  the  blows  have  no  marks  to  show. 

The  judge  then  summed  up  the  case  in  a  clear  and 
impartial  manner, —  dwelling  on  the  life  Claude  had  led, 
living  openly  with  an  improper  character  ;  then  he  had 
robbed,  and  ended  by  being  a  murderer.  All  this  was 
true.  Before  the  jury  retired,  the  judge  asked  Claude 
if  he  had  any  questions  to  ask,  or  anything  to  say. 

"  Very  little,  "  said  Claude.  "  I  am  a  murderer,  I  am  a 
thief;  but  I  ask  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  why  did  I 
kill  ?     Why  did  I  steal  ?  " 

The  jury  retired  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  accord- 
ing to  the  judgment  of  these  twelve  countrymen  — 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  as  they  are  styled  —  Claude 
Gueux  was  condemned  to  death.  At  the  very  outset 
several  of  them  were  much  impressed  with  the  name  of 
Gueux  (vagabond),  and  that  influenced  their  decision. 

When  the  verdict  was  pronounced,  Claude  simply 
said  :  "  Very  well  ;  but  there  are  two  questions  these 
gentlemen  have  not  answered.  Why  did  this  man  steal  ? 
What  made  him  a  murderer  ?  " 

He  made  a  good  supper  that  night,  exclaiming, 
"  Thirty-six  years  have  now  passed  me.  "  He  refused  to 
make  any  appeal  until  the  last  minute,  but  at  the  in- 
stance of  one  of  the  sisters  who  had  nursed  him  he  con- 
sented to  do  so.  She  in  her  fulness  of  heart  gave  him  a 
five-franc  piece. 

Ris  fellow-prisoners,  as  we  have  already  noticed,  were 
devoted  to  him,  and  placed  all  the  means  at  their  dis- 
posal to  help  him  to  escape.  They  threw  into  his  dun- 
geon, through  the  air  hole,  a  nail,  some  wire,  the  handle 


CLAUDE  GUEUX.  17 

of  a  pail  :  any  one  of  these  would  have  been  enough  for 
a  man  like  Claude  to  free  himself  from  his  chains.  He 
gave  them  all  up  to  the  warder. 

On  the  8th  of  June,  1832,  seven  months  and  four 
days  after  the  murder,  the  recorder  of  the  court  came, 
and  Claude  was  told  that  he  had  but  one  hour  more  to 
live,   for  his  appeal  had  been  rejected. 

"  Indeed,  "  said  Claude,  coldly  ;  "  I  slept  well  last 
night,  and  doubtless  I  shall  pass  my  next  even  better.  " 

First  came  the  priest,  then  the  executioner.  He  was 
humble  to  the  priest,  and  listened  to  him  with  great  at- 
tention, regretting  much  that  he  had  not  had  the  benefit 
of  religious  training,  at  the  same  time  blaming  himself 
for  much  in  the  past.  He  was  courteous  in  his  manner 
to  the  executioner  ;  in  fact  he  gave  up  all,  —  his  soul  to 
the  priest,  his  body  to  the  executioner. 

While  his  hair  was  being  cut,  some  one  mentioned 
how  the  cholera  was  spreading,  and  Troyes  at  any  mo- 
ment might  become  a  prey  to  this  fearful  scourge. 
Claude  joined  in  the  conversation,  saying,  with  a  smile, 
"  There  is  one  thing  to  be  said,  —  I  have  no  fear  of  the 
cholera  !  "  He  had  broken  half  of  the  scissors,  —  what 
remained  he  asked  the  jailer  to  give  to  Albin;  the  other 
half  lay  buried  in  his  chest.  He  also  wished  the  day's 
rations  to  be  taken  to  his  friend.  The  only  trifle  he 
retained  was  the  five-franc  piece  that  the  sister  had 
given  him,  which  he  kept  in  his  right  hand  after  he 
was  bound. 

At  a  quarter  to  eight,  the  dismal  procession  usual  in 
such  cases  left  the  prison.  Pale,  but  with  a  firm  tread, 
Claude  Gueux  slowly  mounted  the  scaffold,  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  crucifix  the  priest  carried,  —  an  em- 
blem of  the  Saviour's  suffering.  He  wished  to  embrace 
the  priest  and  the  executioner,  thanking  the  one  and 
pardoning  the  other;   the  executioner  simply  repulsed 


18  CLAUDE  GUEUX. 

him.  Just  before  he  was  bound  to  the  infernal  machine, 
he  gave  the  five-franc  piece  to  the  priest,  saying,  "  For 
the  poor.  " 

The  hour  had  scarcely  struck  its  eight  chimes,  when 
this  man,  so  noble,  so  intelligent,  received  the  fatal 
blow  which  severed  his  head  from  his  body. 

A  market-day  had  been  chosen  for  the  time  of  execu- 
tion, as  there  would  be  more  people  about,  for  there  are 
still  in  France  small  towns  that  glory  in  having  an  exe- 
cution. The  guillotine  that  day  remained,  inflaming 
the  imagination  of  the  mob  to  such  an  extent  that  one 
of  the  tax-gatherers  was  nearly  murdered.  Such  is  the 
admirable  effect  of  public  executions  ! 

We  have  given  the  history  of  Claude  Gueux  's  life, 
more  to  solve  a  difficult  problem  than  for  aught  else. 
In  his  life  there  are  two  questions  to  be  considered,  — ■ 
before  his  fall,  and  after  his  fall.  What  was  his  train- 
ing, and  what  was  the  penalty  ?  This  must  interest 
society  generally;  for  this  man  was  well  gifted,  his  in- 
stincts were  good.  Then  what  was  wanting  ?  On  this 
revolves  the  grand  problem  which  would  place  society 
on  a  firm  basis. 

What  Nature  has  begun  in  the  individual,  let  society 
carry  out.  Look  at  Claude  Gueux.  An  intelligent  and 
most  noble -hearted*  man,  placed  in  the  midst  of  evil  sur- 
roundings, he  turned  thief.  Society  placed  him  in  a 
prison  where  the  evil  was  yet  greater,  and  he  ended 
with  becoming  a  murderer.  Can  we  really  blame  him, 
or  ourselves  ?  —  questions  which  require  deep  thought, 
or  the  result  will  be  that  we  shall  be  compelled  to  shirk 
this  most  important  subject.  The  facts  are  now  before 
us,  and  if  the  government  gives  no  thought'  to  the  mat- 
ter, what  are  the  rulers  about  ? 

The  Deputies  are  yearly  much  occupied.     It  is  im* 


CLAUDE  GUEUX.  19 

portant  to  sift  sinecures  and  to  unravel  the  budget  ; .  to 
pass  an  Act  which  compels  me,  disguised  as  a  soldier, 
to  mount  guard  at  the  Count  de  Lobau's,  whom  I  do  not 
know,  and  to  whom  I  wish  to  remain  a  stranger,  or  to 
go  on  parade  under  the  command  of  my  grocer,  who  has 
been  made  an  officer.  I  wish  to  cast  no  reflections  on 
the  patrol,  who  keep  order  and  protect  our  homes,  but 
on  the  absurdity  of  making  such  parade  and  military 
hubbub  about  turning  citizens  into  parodies  of  soldiers. 

Deputies  or  ministers  !  it  is  important  that  we  should 
sound  every  subject,  even  though  it  end  in  nothing  ; 
that  we  should  question  and  cross-question  what  we 
know  but  little  about.  Rulers  and  legislators  !  you 
pass  your  time  in  classical  comparisons  that  would 
make  a  village  schoolmaster  smile.  You  assert  that  it 
is  the  habits  of  modern  civilization  that  have  engen- 
dered adultery,  incest,  parricide,  infanticide,  and  poison- 
ing,—  proving  that  you  know  little  of  Jocasta,  Phedra, 
(Edipus,  Medea,  or  Rodoguna.  The  great  orators  occupy 
themselves  in  lengthy  discussions  on  Corneille  and  Ra- 
cine, and  get  so  heated  in  literary  argument  as  to  make 
the  grossest  mistakes  in  the  French  language.  Very 
important  indeed  all  this  is,  but  we  consider  there  are 
subjects  of  far  greater  consequence.  In  the  midst  of 
such  useless  arguments,  what  answer  would  the  Depu- 
ties give  if  one  rose  and  gravely  addressed  them  in  the 
following  words  :  — 

"  Silence,  all  those  who  have  been  speaking  Î  silence, 
I  say  !  You  consider  yourself  acquainted  with  the  ques- 
tion? You  know  nothing  about  it.  The  question  is 
this  :  In  the  name  of  justice,  scarcely  a  year  ago,  a  man 
at  Fanners  was  cut  to  pieces  ;  at  Dijon  a  woman's  head 
was  taken  off  ;  in  Paris,  at  St.  Jacques,  executions  take 
place  without  number.  This  is  the  question  !  Now 
take  your  time  to  consider  it,  you  who  argue  over  the 


20  CLAUDE   GUEUX. 

buttons  of  the  National  Guards,  whether  they  should 
be  white  or  yellow,  and  if  security  is  preferable  to 
certainty  ! 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Right,  gentlemen  of  the  Left,  the 
great  mass  of  the  people  suffer  !  Whether  a  republic  or 
a  monarchy,  the  fact  remains  the  same,  —  the  people 
suffer  !  The  people  are  famished,  the  people  are  frozen. 
Such  misery  leads  them  on  to  crime  :  the  galleys  take 
the  sons,  houses  of  ill-fame  the  daughters.  You  have 
too  many  convicts,  too  many  unfortunates. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  social  gangrene  ?  You 
are  near  the  patient  :  treat  the  malady.  You  are  at 
fault  :  now  study  the  matter  more  deeply. 

"  When  you  pass  laws,  what  are  they  but  expedients 
and  palliatives  ?     Half  your  codes  result  from  routine. 

"  Branding  but  cauterizes  the  wound,  and  it  mortifies, 
and  what  is  the  end  ?  You  stamp  the  crime  for  life  on 
the  criminal  ;  you  make  two  friends  of  them,  two  com- 
panions —  inseparables.  The  convict  prison  is  a  blister 
which  spreads  far  worse  matter  than  ever  it  extracts  ; 
and  as  for  the  sentence  of  death,  when  carried  out  it  is 
a  barbarous  amputation.  Therefore,  branding,  penal  ser- 
vitude, and  sentence  of  death  are  all  of  one  class  ;  you 
have  done  away  with  the  branding,  banish  the  rest. 
Why  keep  the  chain  and  the  chopper  now  you  have  put 
aside  the  hot  iron  ?  Farinace  was  atrocious,  but  he  was 
not  ridiculous. 

"  Take  down  that  worn  ladder  that  leads  to  crime  and 
to  suffering.  Revise  your  laws  ;  revise  your  codes  ;  re- 
build your  prisons  ;  replace  your  judges.  Make  laws 
suited  to  the  present  time. 

"  You  are  bent  on  economy  ;  do  not  be  so  lavish  in 
taking  off  the  heads  of  so  many  during  the  year.  Sup- 
press the  executioner  ;  you  could  defray  the  expenses  of 
six  hundred  schoolmasters  with  the  wages  you  give  your 


CLAUDE  GTJEUX.  21 

eighty  executioners.  Think  of  the  multitude  ;  then  there 
would  be  schools  for  the  children,  workshops  for  the 
men. 

"  Do  you  know  that  in  France  there  are  fewer  people 
who  know  how  to  read  than  in  any  other  country  in 
Europe  ?  Fancy,  Switzerland  can  read,  Belgium  can 
read,  Denmark  can  read,  Greece  can  read,  Ireland  can 
read  —  and  France  cannot  read  !     It  is  a  crying  evil. 

"  Go  into  our  convict  prisons,  examine  each  one  of 
these  condemned  men,  and  you  will  observe  by  the  pro- 
file, the  shape  of  the  head,  how  many  could  find  their 
type  in  the  lower  animals.  Here  are  the  lynx,  the  cat, 
the  monkey,  the  vulture,  the  hysena.  Nature  was  first 
to  blame,  no  doubt;  but  the  want  of  training  fostered 
the  evil.  Then  give  the  people  a  fair  education,  and 
what  there  is  of  good  in  these  ill-conditioned  minds, 
let  that  be  developed.  People  must  be  judged  by  their 
opportunities.  Rome  and  Greece  were  educated  :  then 
brighten  the  people's  intellect. 

"  When  France  can  read,  then  give  the  people  encour- 
agement for  higher  things.  Ignorance  is  preferable  to 
a  little  ill-directed  knowledge;  and  remember,  there  is 
a  book  of  far  greater  importance  than  the  '  Compère 
Mathieu,'  more  popular  than  the  '  Constitutionnel,'  and 
more  worthy  of  perusal  than  the  charter  of  1830,  —  that 
is  the  Bible. 

"  Whatever  you  may  do  for  the  people,  the  majority 
will  always  remain  poor  and  unhappy.  Theirs  the 
work,  the  heavy  burden  to  carry,  to  endure  :  all  the 
miseries  for  the  poor,  all  the  pleasures  for  the  rich. 

"  As  such  is  life,  ought  not  the  State  to  lean  to  the 
weaker  and  helpless  side  ? 

"  In  the  midst  of  all  this  wretchedness,  if  you  but 
throw  hope  in  the  balance,  let  the  poor  man  learn  there 
is  a  heaven  where  joy  reigns,  a  paradise  that  he  can 


22  CLAUDE  GUEUX. 

share,  and  you  raise  him  ;  he  feels  that  he  has  a  part  in 
the  rich  man's  joys.  And  this  was  the  teaching  Jesus 
gave,  and  He  knew  more  about  it  than  Voltaire. 

"  Then  give  to  those  people  who  work,  and  who  suffer 
here,  the  hope  of  a  different  world  to  come,  and  they 
will  go  on  patiently;  for  patience  but  follows  in  the 
footsteps  of  hope.  Then  spread  the  Gospel  in  all  our 
villages,  let  every  cottage  have  its  Bible  ;  the  seed  thus 
sown  will  soon  circulate.  Encourage  virtue,  and  from 
that  will  spring  so  much  that  now  lies  fallow. 

"  The  man  turned  assassin  under  certain  circum- 
stances, if  differently  influenced  would  have  served  his 
country  well. 

"  Then  give  the  people  all  encouragement  ;  improve 
the  masses,  enlighten  them,  guard  their  morals,  make 
them  useful,  and  to  such  heads  as  those  you  will  not 
require  to  use  cold  steel." 


THE    END. 


/ 


